


Skin

by annunziatina



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annunziatina/pseuds/annunziatina
Summary: Through no fault of his own Michael Guerin comes in and out of Alex Manes's life.  Glimpses into their pre-canon friendship/relationship from Alex's POV.Chapter 1 - Age 7; Second GradeChapter 2 - Age 14; Back in BlueChapter 3 - Age 15; Happy BirthdayChapter 4 - Age 16; City of AngelsChapters 5-9 - Ages 16-17; Two Small Pieces of GlassChapter 10 - Age 18; CamouflageHeads up: In case it wasn't clear from context (which it likely wasn't - I apologize), Alex and Michael's story begins in 1990, instead of the canonical "age 7" 1997 de-pod.  :: Roswell High School's Graduating Class of 2000 ::





	1. Second Grade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is un-beta'd, but I have found one for what comes next!
> 
> Heads up: The story is told in 3rd Person Limited (Alex's POV). Alex and Michael's story begins in 1990, instead of the canonical "age 7" 1997 de-pod. I attempted to write the chapters "aging up" as Alex matures and becomes more aware of himself, others, and life circumstances. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic about how young Alex and Michael become friends and more. <3

Alex Manes was sunburnt and still scratching sand out of his hair when he first met Michael Guerin. He was careful to keep the mess on his own desk. Corinne, who sat across from him for the second year in a row, had already whined to their teacher about the sand. It wasn't his fault Miss Jessica pushed theirs desks together in groups of four.  


Alex looked at the new kid at the desk beside him. The wide name tag across the top of his desk said Michael in large block print. A flying saucer sticker decorated either end. Alex's name tag had a rocketship; it had in the first grade classroom the year before, too. He figured teachers would associate him with rocket ships and airplanes for as long as they thought this kind of thing was clever. His family had lived in this town for probably forever. And all the men had been destined for the Air Force - that was, until Mrs. Manes (retired Private First Class of the National Guard) convinced her doting husband their sons would have the right to choose where to serve.

Alex had decided - way back when he discovered singing along to his mother's old records was far more interesting than listening to the exciting adventures of G.I. Dad - that his choice for military branch of service would be 'none’. He hadn't shared that tidbit of information with anyone other than his Teddy Ruxpin, but he hadn't changed his mind and he didn't think he ever would.

Alex peeled a strip of tacky aloe from his forearm and held it out in front of his face. It looked like the shedding skins of the snakes he and his brothers saw in the yard sometimes. He showed the new kid - Michael.

“Is that… normal?” Michael asked quietly.

Alex giggled. If they had been introduced just a few days earlier, Michael would have been sunburnt too, pulling pieces from his own arm.

Resting his chin on the desk, Alex pinched at a lifted edge of aloe. Michael stared slack jawed and looking every bit as curious as he looked concerned.

Alex slid his arm to the edge of his desk, right up to the space where the two desks met to form a thin metal divide.

“Does it hurt?” Michael whispered.

“Nuh-uh.”

Alex taught him how to scratch an edge and peel the dried lotion up slowly. Michael was methodical and gentle. He looked up at Alex periodically, checking to see if he was telling the truth about the pain. Alex smiled at his frowny, furrowed expression each time. His smile alone seemed enough encouragement for Michael to continue to pick and prod.

Had they been introduced just a few days prior Alex could have been peeling tacky aloe off of Michael's forearm as well. But Michael wasn’t burnt at all. He had a light tan, but that was it. Unlike most of the class, not even his nose or cheeks were red.

Alex rested his chin on his arm and thought, _If he had been at my birthday, he’d be itching like me._

Over the weekend, Alex and his small group of friends had celebrated his seventh birthday at Lea Lake. He didn’t know why he wished this new kid had been there, but when Michael smiled at him Alex hoped they’d make up for it next year.

At the start of second grade Michael was just a mop of curly hair slumped low in the purple backed chair beside Alex. On the second day of school Michael stood beside Alex desk. Eyes downcast and sneaker squeaking as it scuffed the tile floor, Michael told Alex he was in the wrong seat. Alex looked down at the chair beneath him and looked up at the boy he had thought was going to be his friend.

The tap of chalk against the blackboard signified the start of class and Alex pointed to Michael's name on the desk to his left. Still, Michael wouldn't budge. He reached for the the purple chair with a whisper Alex couldn't quite make out. Michael's grip on the plastic arm was tight enough that his knuckles had turned white.

“Michael. What are you doing out of your seat?”

At their teacher’s question, Michael's head snapped up. Alex caught his gaze and urged him to sit down.

Alex's chair rocked side to side when Michael abruptly let go. But before Michael walked away, he spoke again.

Alex would have let Michael have the seat even if his eyes hadn’t looked so sad, even if the boy’s voice hadn’t broken when he’d tacked on a barely audible “please.” Had Alex understood it was the purple chair (not the desk) Michael wanted, he would have traded without question.

 

Alex noticed Michael was smart right away. He answered and asked a lot of questions but he never remembered to raise his hand. 

Michael spent a lot of time in the Time Out rug. The “Think Spot,” Miss Jessica liked to call it.

Alex had a good view of the place - a lonely corner in the back of the classroom. He watched Michael sit idly, staring at his fingers as they twitched in his lap. Alex didn’t know when the idea came to him to hide art supplies for his friend, but when it did it felt like a stroke of brilliance. 

While everyone was busy making Thanksgiving cards, Alex filled his pockets with broken crayons and scrap paper. Before lunch hour, Alex took his chance and hid his stash under the corner of the rug. No one saw him sneak, but he hoped Michael would feel the lump next time he was there.

It wasn’t but a few days before Michael found himself curled into himself in the spot again. Alex sat forward in his chair and thought hard about the crayons. If only his thoughts were louder, bigger, maybe Michael could somehow know. 

Then, Michael shifted just right, scrunched his face in discomfort and looked under himself. Lifting the flap, he found the small hoard and his expression went soft and bright all at once. He locked eyes on Alex and Alex felt the hint of a smile turn up the corner of his mouth. 

Miss Jessica stepped between them, cutting into their line of sight. 

“This next math section is a toughie,” she warned as she placed worksheets on the table. “Be patient with yourselves. We’ll work together. It’ll come easier in time.”

Alex frowned as she moved from table to table. He dropped his eyes to his paper and tapped his pencil to his lips. As Miss Jessica leaned over Evie to explain the instructions, Alex wondered why no one showed such patience with Michael.

Gathering his books for home, Alex found a picture of swirling colors in his cubby. He slid it into his spelling homework so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.

“Thanks,” he said to his cubby buddy.

Michael looked back at him and for once his sad eyes caught the rays of the afternoon sun. The light in his brown eyes took Alex’s breath away. 

Michael glanced at Alex’s backpack and at the door behind him. “See ya,” he replied as if it was nothing.

Alex hitched his bag over his shoulders and knew it was more.

Michael wasn’t sent to the Think Spot for a while after that. He raised his hand and held his tongue when the teacher failed to call on him, even if it was the fifth time in a row and everyone else was getting the answer wrong. He didn’t doodle on his worksheets when he finished before the rest of the class. He was trying to be good even though it meant he went unnoticed. But Alex noticed him.

Alex was glad Michael wasn’t getting in trouble anymore. He enjoyed the company, even if Michael usually kept to himself. Michael was a great listener and when he did have something to say, Alex knew he meant it. 

They stayed together during group work and played on the same teams at recess. But when Alex invited Michael over for a playdate during winter break, Michael said, “I can’t,” and turned away.

Crushed, Alex accepted Will’s invitation to the park. He, Will, and Will’s sister Evie had a great time. There were other playdates and other friends over winter break as well, but Alex couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Someone.

The new year had never been such a relief. Alex felt older, like time away from his friend trudged along so slowly that he could feel all seven years and four months of his life.

Alex rushed to be the first one into the classroom when Miss Jessica welcomed them back. He found the purple chair and swapped it for the yellow one that the custodian had put in its place by mistake. He settled into the red chair beside it like always. 

He drummed his hands on the table top as the other kids filed in, hung up their jackets, and took to their seats. 

When Michael slid into the other red chair across from him, Alex’s jaw dropped. 

Alex’s expression fell as Corrinne slid into the purple chair and began chatting with Melanie. 

Alex was about to say something, but Michael slumped low in his chair and Alex felt stupid for wanting to complain.

When Michael’s sneakers bumped Alex’s toes, Alex slid his feet away to give Michael more room. But then Michael looked up through his lashes and Alex realized that, in this new arrangement, he didn’t need to find an excuse to turn toward the back of the room to meet Michael's eyes. 

Alex inched his foot back to Michael’s knowing that, at least for him, more distance wasn’t what he wanted. Michael’s sneaker wiggled a little against the side of Alex’s foot and Alex giggled through Miss Jessica’s call of attendance.

Michael continued to avoid the Think Spot and Alex discovered more about him. He learned Michael liked dark chocolate and the smell of fresh nail polish. Michael didn’t like to be touched, but if he reached out first it was different. 

Alex learned sometimes Michael wore clothes that didn’t fit because he didn’t have any clean clothes of his own and sometimes they were hand-me-downs. But sometimes Michael wore long sleeves on warm days. Sometimes he didn’t take off his sweater when the classroom heater was on high, and even though Alex promised he wouldn’t tell a secret, Michael wouldn’t say why. 

“I can’t give you my secrets, Alex.”

“Why not?” Alex kicked dirt under the bleachers as he handed the rest of his snack to Michael. “You can have mine.” His offer didn’t end at the crackers and peanut butter. Alex would tell Michael anything, if he’d ask.

“My secrets are too big, Alex.” Michael tucked the baggy into his pocket. He rarely ate in front of anyone. Alex was still trying to figure out what else he liked. “They’ll get us in trouble.”

“Oh.” Alex knew about those kinds of secrets. He didn’t want anyone to get into trouble. 

“Big secrets can hurt sometimes. Big secrets can be dangerous if they get out.”

Alex nodded, but his parents said secrets could hurt if you kept them inside too.

“So I can’t give you mine.”

Alex decided he wouldn’t burden Michael with his secrets either. But there was something he could give. 

The recess bell rang and kids started heading inside.

“I have something for you, if you want it,” Alex said before Michael went too far. 

“Cool.”

At their table, Michael craned his neck to watch Alex pull the mystery from his backpack.

Alex placed the small bottle of nail polish in Michael’s palm without fanfare but stayed forward in his chair. Leaning across the table on his elbows, Alex let Michael have a look at his own hands.

“It’s clear,” Alex informed quietly. “I used it on my pinkies and I can barely see it, but you can smell it right?”

Michael’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t- I can’t have this at the group home.”

“Oh.” Alex took the bottle as Michael slid it into his reach.

“But, um,” Michael rubbed at his neck, “your pinkies are cool, all shiny like that.”

Alex sat back and waggled them to see the reflection of the fluorescents. “Thanks.” 

The pair remained mesmerized by the shine in the nails and each other’s eyes until Miss Jessica came around with another maths assignment.

“Those of you with older siblings have heard this phrase before: Pop Quiz!” Miss Jessica laughed at the scattered gasps and groans. “I know this section has been a lot of work. I want to see where we are as a class. What we understand and what needs better explanation. If I need to spend more time going over certain things, I will. This worksheet will help me figure that out.”

With a small but genuine smile on his face, the first Alex had ever seen, Michael accepted the challenge. He finished the math problems before Miss Jessica had time to crack open her novel. He walked to the desk with his head held high, a confident set to his shoulders. 

Alex, wide-eyed and warm with pride, watched Michael hand in his quiz.

Then, Miss Jessica’s gentle features pinched and twisted. She scoured her desk for something and jabbed her finger through the air toward the back of the room. She wasn’t even quiet about accusing Michael of having her answer key. She accused him of stealing, lying, and cheating all in the span of one breath.

Michael dragged his feet to the rug at their classmates whispered shocks and sniggering.

Alex’s stomach felt sick.

Michael ended up in the Think Spot for longer than he’d ever been, longer than anyone in class had. At least, that’s how it felt to the almost seven and a half year old kid watching his friend suffer punishment in silence.

That afternoon Alex searched his cubby for a picture. His heart sank when there was none. Alex could’ve sworn Michael had been making something in the spot. Maybe Michael was mad at him. Maybe Alex should have stood up for him. 

Michael’s arm brushed Alex’s as they gathered their backpacks, but Michael didn’t let on he knew what Alex was upset about.

The next day, before class settled, Alex asked, “Do you need more paper or crayons at the rug?” Maybe it was just a matter of running out. Alex could bring stuff from home if he had to.

Michael shook his head and stared. After a shaky breath, he dropped his gaze and walked away.

_Maybe,_ Alex thought, _I should stop acting like I expect Michael to be in trouble so often._

Valentine’s Day fell toward the end of the week. In class, everyone made cards for everyone. They were supposed to include a positive attribute or something that reminded you of your classmate.

At the end of the day everyone looked through their cubbies to read what their classmates had written about them.

Alex didn’t have to read Michael’s cards to know they’d mostly say: athletic, curly hair, good climber, fast. Alex had overheard Miss Jessica and the teacher’s aid Miss Ellen helping a lot of their neighbors think of something to write for him.

Alex had drawn a heart. It was kind of fat and squished on purpose because Alex couldn’t put into words how it felt to have Michael near him, to have Michael look at him the way he did. Alex wrote: You are my best friend.

Among the commotion at the cubbies, Alex skimmed through the pile of cards addressed to him. His first care was to find Michael’s neat print on pink and red construction paper. But instead of a lace-trimmed card from Michael, tucked between sentiments of: ‘nice’ and ‘big pool,’ Alex found a crayon-colored picture. 

Like the one before, the swirling clouds were so colorful they seemed to want to move. This time, however, the page was speckled with what looked like stars. A cluster stood out in the center of the page.

“Is that a constellation?”

Michael pulled his lips between his teeth and gave a small nod.

“I’ve never seen this one before.”

Michael reached out, traced his finger from dot to dot, then laid his hand over the page. “It’s home...”

“Michael Guerin!” Miss Jessica called from the door to the hallway. Her voice silenced the chatter of their excited classmates. “The van is here.”

Alex wanted to ask about the constellation after the weekend, but Michael’s face was buried in his arms. He didn’t even look up with Alex knocked toes with him and offered a pancake. It was from that morning’s breakfast plate, cold by the time Alex got to school. But Michael loved Mrs. Manes’s pancakes.

Alex slipped it under Michael’s arm and hoped his friend would cheer up a little at the lopsided smile baked in. Alex had worked so hard to get it right, dropping in each chocolate chip individually.

The next day Michael’s floppy curls were gone, cropped short. He wore a freshly pressed button down shirt with too long slacks that folded under his heels. Michael squirmed in his shoes and flinched when Alex tried to press his sneakers toe to toe.

Another day passed where Michael wouldn’t meet Alex’s eyes. There were a few times, however, when Alex pretended to give Miss Jessica his attention, that Michael did look. 

Alex pretended not to see as Michael pretended not to stare. 

They ate snack in heavy silence and Michael refused to engage during lunch.

At the end of day, Alex held his friend by the arm before he slipped away. “Hey.”

Michael scratched his head and waited for more.

Alex sighed in defeat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With his hands stuffed into his pockets Michael bit his lips together and swallowed hard.

For the fourth day in a row, Alex was met with silence. He didn’t realize he could miss someone’s voice so much.

Wednesday, the seat across from Alex was empty and Miss Jessica told the class Michael Guerin had moved in with a foster family in Albuquerque.

Alex spoke out of turn three times before Miss Jessica sent him to the rug. 

He turned his back to the class, dragged his nails over the nubs of crayons still waiting there and cried.

At the end of the school year Miss Jessica had them clear out their cubbies and toss everything to trash or recycling. Michael’s drawings were all Alex kept that year. A reminder that his best friend existed though no one else seemed to mention him any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought with comments and kudos.  
> Find me on Tumblr [@Annunziatina](http://annunziatina.tumblr.com).  
> I hope you'll be back for the next chapter. (I hope Guerin will be back for the next chapter... haha, of course he will.)


	2. Back in Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind thanks goes to [mythras_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythras_fire/pseuds/mythras_fire) for their time, expertise, and encouragement as my beta! 
> 
> Any remaining awkwardness and errors are mine.

It was during the first rehearsal for Junior High graduation when Alex heard the name “Guerin, Michael” again and reality rushed at him like a train off its track.

Feedback pierced his ears as Vice Principal Mueller drawled over the auditorium speakers and repeated the name. 

Alex looked up from his lap, now sure he hadn’t misheard, hadn’t been hallucinating.

The lanky not-so-newcomer stepped out from a huddle of adults. The pause in walking practice seemed to provide little more than an opportunity for the eighth graders to start up their own private conversations. Small notice was paid to Michael as he approached the rows of folding chairs set up before the gymnasium stage. 

Alex saw the adults whispering with frowns and eye rolls, as he always did, as they always did. They couldn’t pass up an opportunity for gossip. No better than their students. They showed great examples of maturity and poise. What would Alex’s mother say?

Alex recognized teachers and some administrators he hadn’t officially had to meet but knew through student council. Their exasperation seemed displaced. Certainly there could be no justifiable reason for disdain toward a student they’d just met.

A familiar blonde in the front rows led Michael to a seat as if he’d be participating in the graduation ceremony the following week. She looked familiar but the whole scene was starting to blur. Desperate for some clue, Alex strained to hear what was being said between her and Michael. All he could make out over the gym’s squealing sound system was the blood rushing from his head to his feet.

A black cowboy hat, worn at the creases, topped Michael’s head. Gold streaked curls peeked out from beneath the brim. Alex was parched. His eyes felt dry from not blinking. His chest hurt like he had forgotten how to breathe.

The chair groaned and jumped along the waxed basketball court as Alex stood. “May I be excused?” No chaperone in particular gave permission for his exit, but none stood in his way, either. 

By some mercy his lungs had found their function by the time Alex stood at the bathroom sink. 

He splashed water over his face and pressed a hand over his heart. His chest continued to ache as if his heart were broken. When he dropped his hand to the sink’s porcelain edge, a wet reminder of the pain remained on his shirt - a sign post to any who doubted his bleeding heart.

Alex grabbed paper towels in his fist and dabbed at the worst.

The overgreased hinge of the bathroom door almost always made it slam. The heavy bang of door against cinderblock had Alex nearly jumping out of his skin.

“You Ok?” Rick got a paper towel and ran it under water. Caretaking must run in his family, but Alex couldn’t deny his appreciation. The cool compress Rick pressed over Alex’s forehead soothed and soaked his flushing face. “Do you want me to call my mom?”

“No, no.” Though he felt like the world was moving too fast for him to keep up, Alex didn’t think he was sick enough to worry the school nurse. Besides, what would he say? “I have a headache. I’m Ok.”

Rick rinsed the paper towel again and applied it to Alex’s neck. “You look pale.” 

“Gee, thanks, man.” It felt like his whole body was on fire.

Rick sighed. “I mean… are you _sure_ you don’t need somebody?”

Alex’s eyebrows lifted with the question. He needed someone six years ago when the State relocated his best friend without a warning. He needed someone when he was seven years old and didn’t understand his Michael wasn’t coming back. So, yeah, maybe he needed someone now that the boy had been moved again, now that what was gone had returned.

Alex’s silence must have been answer enough for Rick because his eyebrows were drawn together as he resigned to exit.

“Hold up,” Alex said, catching him by the arm. With Rick's focus on him again, Alex troubled himself with how to ask, “You remember Michael Guerin?”

Rick's frown and shrug were brief. “That new guy? No. Should I?”

Alex thought back. “Guess not.” Rick had been in Ms. Linda’s class with Max and Isobel. There wasn’t a reason for Rick to recognize the kid who spent less than six months at their school, but after living in a group home together, however briefly, the Evanses might. “Don’t worry about it.”

If only the adopted siblings would speak to Alex more than a ‘Hey’ in the hallway or clipped answers regarding homework whenever Alex tried to engage. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put forth the effort, but it had been years before Alex learned of their connection with Michael. By then it was hard to find the words, to start the only conversation that felt like it mattered.

Rick’s head took on an interested tilt. “You recognize him though.”

Alex raised his shoulder in half a shrug. “We sat at the same table. Second grade.” 

“God, dude.” Rick's laughs were free and forgiving. “We were babies.” Gentle amusement bubbled out of his chest so often Alex thought it would cheapen over time, but it didn’t. 

“Babies,” Alex parroted back. “Yeah.” Watching Rick's smile reminded him of how infrequently raw happiness had shone through Michael way back when. 

“Looks like little Mikey Mike may have changed a little bit since second grade,” Rick said curiously.

“Yeah.” Alex had been staring, before his vision went to fuzz; he’d noticed. 

Poorly sized hand-me-down clothes had been replaced by dark denim and a faded band tee. That cowboy hat passed hand to hand as he found the chair reserved for him at the end of the aisle. A hint of bravado tempered Michael’s gait. “Yeah,” Alex shared aloud, “he’s changed.”

Alex spent the first month of summer wondering when he would cross paths with Michael. He lingered at the public pool and community center to kill time, to have an excuse to be out late on the other side of town.

It didn’t occur to Alex they’d have their moment at football tryouts. It was a cruel joke: all those eyes on them, the helmets and mouthguards silencing whatever words they could have said. Yet, despite three days of exhaustion stripping them of energy to exchange anything more than a nod, all it really took to convince Alex he was remembered was a glance.

Seeing the twitchy lift of Michael’s eyebrow as their eyes caught across the huddle, Alex felt like he had wings. And so, he flew through the speed and agility trials, impressing even himself. Then, he moved on to showing off his arm. Alex didn’t have as long a throw as he’d like, or the tightest spiral, but coaches had been throwing the word potential at him since he could receive a snap from center.

Then, there was Michael. That kid didn’t have wings; he wore thrusters on his heels. Even in cleats that had seen much better days, Michael had the quickest feet and highest knees on the team. He tore through the obstacle courses like they were tailor made for him. He had a powerhouse of an arm and a body that blocked like a solid wall of brick. 

If potential was what the athletic department was after, their search should’ve started there.

When Coach Roland posted the JV roster, no one was as surprised as Alex.

“What do you mean they placed you on second string?” Alex couldn’t hide the indignance in his tone; he didn’t want to. 

Michael pulled his jersey over his head with a low hiss and tossed it in the laundry bag with the others. Then, collapsing to the bench, he revealed a contented hint of a smile. “Made the team though.” 

Alex should have dropped his attitude then and there. He should have let Michael have his moment But, already worked up, he pressed on. 

“You’re better than that. You’re better than Grant!” 

Michael’s hand shot up and tugged Alex down by the ties of his shoulder pads until they were eye to eye. Alex’s breath caught in his throat. He’d forgotten the way fluorescent lighting brought out the golden ring around Michael’s irises.

“Knock it off, alright?” Michael’s whisper was as sharp as his furtive glances around the locker room. “Let it go.”

Alex opened his mouth to argue but swallowed his tongue when a mark low on Michael’s neck caught his attention. 

“What is that, a hickie?” Alex poked it, teasing, forgetting for a moment they weren’t seven years old and Michael tugging him down to tell him to _shut up_ definitely wasn’t an invitation to touch.

Michael clapped his hand to the bruise with a scowl and squeezed in defense. His hand covered Alex’s for a lingering moment before dropping into his lap.

Alex caressed the injury in a silent apology, feather-light. Concern for what was forward or appropriate vanished; all that remained was a tightness in his chest and the frantic beat of his heart. 

“Michael, how did this happen?” Alex's voice rose with alarm. He leaned in and squinted. The dark patch bloomed red and blue and purple, much wider than what Alex had first seen. Alex froze at the sight. The smell of sweaty protective gear, grass stains, and yellow Gatorade tinged the air. 

“One of the guys grabbed me wrong in a tackle.” Instead of jerking away or tilting his neck for Alex to examine the injury, Michael turned into the touch. His chin grazed Alex’s wrist and stayed close.

“Grabbed you?” Alex’s finger hooked the collar of Michael’s shoulder pad to get a better look underneath. The adjustment put distance between his hand and Michael’s face, but it brought them almost cheek to cheek.

“His cleat or something must have gotten caught.”

Alex felt Michael tense under the scrutiny and tried desperately to keep calm. “He grabbed you or stepped on you?” 

A crash and an uproar of laughter startled the pair. Michael’s breath came faster as his eyes darted down the row of lockers. Most of the guys were in the showers already, but Michael nudged off Alex’s hold.

“Please, talk to me.” Lest his plea echo off the walls, Alex dropped his voice to a whisper.

_There,_ Alex thought. _After six long years he was finally able to say those words._

Michael glanced over at him and then away. Curls weighted by sweat shielded his downcast eyes. It sparked an urge to run his hands through them, a desire that laid dormant since the locks had been sheard before Michael, too, had disappeared. Alex refrained from brushing the curls aside, but only just. 

“What do you want me to say?”

_Say anything._ Alex recalled the film and wished he could be so corny. “Show me,” he said instead.

It didn’t take long for Alex to learn the difference between football injuries and _not_. He feigned ignorance, for Michael’s sake or so he thought. By the end of the month it didn’t do either of them any good to play pretend.

Sometimes Michael’s wounds were already bandaged. Apparently, Max and Isobel had stayed close to him since the early days; it turned out they had kept in touch as Michael bounced from family to family around the county. The news was still bittersweet on his tongue. Alex wondered if the taste of those missing years, the regret, would ever truly fade. 

Max and Isobel helped, but more often than not it was Alex staying after practice, stealing from the med kit and tending to whatever new scrapes and bruises Michael revealed. 

Alex stopped asking Michael to talk about the marks after hearing about a particularly terrible night involving Michael’s previous foster family. He should have handled it better. 

”That was the worst they did, right?” Alex had asked, hiccupping through a sob. Michael’s bruises that day had spanned his ribs. Feverish under Alex’s palms, they had terrified him. “Right?” 

Michael didn’t respond; Alex knew it was so he wouldn’t have to lie.

In Michael’s consoling embrace Alex had cried harder, thinking this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. His role was caretaker; it was his time to be strong. But Alex couldn’t deny the safety of having Michael’s arms around him. He breathed into Michael’s neck with rasped apologies as Michael promised he was Ok.

Since then, the most information he got was the occasional mention of Michael getting into scrapes with kids at the group home. 

“Fighting makes you a monster,” Michael admitted through clenched jaw. He hugged his bent knee to his chest and hid his face.

Alex made a second pass over Michael’s spine with antiseptic soaked cotton. “Then don’t fight.” He exhaled a steady stream of air to cool the sting. 

Michael’s huff was a humorless sound. “You think I’d end up like this if I fought back?”

That night Alex couldn’t bare letting Michael go back to the group home.

“Mr. Guerin, isn’t it?” Sgt. Manes greeted them at the front door, sticking out his hand for a shake.

The eye roll Alex gave behind his friend’s back was rather dramatic. “Dad, you’ve met him a hundred times.”

Sgt. Manes kept his attention on Michael, encouraging and anything but condescending. “First time in another man’s home, you introduce yourself properly. Yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said. “I’m Michael Guerin, sir.”

“No need to serve me a sir sandwich, but I can already tell you’ve got more manners on yourself than this brat.”

“Alex is real nice, sir. I mean, Sarge. I mean-”

“It’s Ok, son.” Sgt. Manes pardoned Michael’s floundering with a chuckle and a light pat on the shoulder. He took the boys by the nape of their necks and steered them into the hall. “Let’s see where Mom is and we can scavenge for some grub.”

“Hey guys!” Mrs. Manes wheeled into the room with grocery bags and a bright smile. Sgt. Manes kissed her cheek as she parked to assess the group. “Hungry again? Alex, I could have sworn I fed you yesterday.” She laughed at her own joke and swiveled to lead the way to the kitchen. “I’ve got one more trip to the car and I’ll be right back.”

Michael took quick steps toward the wheelchair, and though Alex knew he meant to help he pushed Michael toward the table to sit. “When Mom needs help she’ll ask.” 

Grocery shopping, though it took nearly an entire day’s time and energy, was something Alex’s mother could still manage on her own. The Manes men weren’t about to let anyone take that freedom away from her, no matter how well-intentioned.

“So, son,” Sgt Manes opened the pantry, “what’ll it be?” 

Michael met Alex’s gaze, and Alex waited expectantly for Michael to give his order. “Seriously, dude,” he said at Michael's hesitation, “whatever you want.” 

“Um, ok. Pancakes?”

Sgt. Manes rubbed his hands together in delight. “Breakfast for dinner. Now that’s a request I can get behind.”

“Oh, not you too!” Mrs. Manes came around the corner with the glow of nostalgia on her features. “There was a time when that was the only thing Alex would eat. My God, I think that lasted a year, didn’t it? I would find pancakes hidden everywhere - in his book bag, his jacket pockets, his bedroom drawers. Must have been straightening up for his eighth birthday when I finally found the last chocolate chip disaster. Grown its own colony of mold, I thought…” A sudden change of expression brought her fingers to her lips. “Oh. Well and then...”

Michael looked around the room. “What happened then?”

“Poor thing was sick of them. Got stomach aches at the sight. Wouldn’t come down the stairs if he smelled them cooking.” 

Michael’s expression was blank. “I don’t need pancakes.”

“No, no. It’s fine!” Sgt. Manes waved Alex around the kitchen counter. He pulled out a box of mix to emphasize his enthusiasm. 

Alex concurred, “I got over it. And Mom taught me how to get them fluffier so they can hold more chocolate chips.”

“Really?”

“Attaboy. No need to be shy about food in this house. Ask and ye shall receive… your order or some close approximation to the thing.” Sgt. Manes lifted himself to sit on the counter as Alex bustled around the kitchen. 

Mrs. Manes put the groceries in their proper places as Alex moved around her chair like a well practiced dance. He whipped up high stacks of flapjacks for each of their plates.

When the last of the batter had bubbled in the griddle, Sgt. Manes jerked his chin toward the fridge. “Butter and syrup, son. We have the real stuff and Aunt Jemima’s. Top shelf on the door.”

Taking human portions for themselves and leaving the lion’s share for the growing boys, Sgt. and Mrs. Manes finished their evening meal early and retired to the den. 

“Your dad’s not like a real army guy.” Michael announced when they were alone.

Alex sucked syrup from his top lip as he considered the statement. “Dad’s in the Air Force. And he’s about as real as they get.” He had a feeling the only military men Michael had been exposed to were those in film and television. Men who screamed in your face and never showed a modicum of affection. “I don’t know what he’s like at work, but at home he’s a person. You’ll see. He likes you.”

Michael had shoveled too big a bite into his mouth; at Alex’s assertion he started to choke. 

After a few hard slaps on the back, Michael coughed, swallowed, and cleared his throat. “How can you tell?”

Alex shrugged. _It was obvious, wasn’t it?_ “He calls you ‘son’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you thought :).
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [Annunziatina](http://annunziatina.tumblr.com)


	3. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to my beta and friend mythras_fire.  
> Any remaining awkwardness and errors are mine.
> 
> :D

Coach’s whistle trilled over the cacophony of excited shouts and clashing helmets. Quiet fell over the small sea of blue and white. “Listen up!” Coach surveyed Roswell High’s JV football team as their pregame ritual died down. His pep talk was an old variance of the same speech he’d been using for years.

Coach spoke almost directly to the first string players, making eye contact and calling them by name. He insured second and third string knew where they stood. The tactic left anyone not on his _list_ in varying states of jealousy or, in Alex’s case, boredom.

Alex caught Michael’s eye across the throng. When the second string Running Back jerked his chin toward the water cooler, the third string Quarterback didn’t hesitate to follow. 

Michael walked over with a swagger that could have been bravado or the vestige of a limp. 

Without making a fuss, Alex took a seat and grabbed a cold pack from the med kit. The gel squished and cooled as Alex manipulated the bag. A hot pack would have been a better find.

“Don’t.” Michael straddled the bench to face Alex and his expression turned sour. “You look like your brothers when you do that.”

Alex arched an eyebrow and flung the cold bag at Michael’s stomach. “Take that back.” He hadn't realized he'd been making a face, now he couldn't help but scowl.

Michael leaned forward, his hands parting his knees wide. “It’s not a _terrible_ thing… but I prefer you.” 

“Yeah.” Alex cleared his throat and noticed all the people around. They were supposed to be doing something. _Oh. The scrimmage. Michael was limping._ “I, um-” Alex gestured to the cold pack lying between his friend’s legs.

“Oh.” Mirth faded from Michael’s smile as he poked the proffered bag. He scratched a long line through the frost and wiped the condensation on his thigh. “They didn’t hit me that hard,” he said finally, his voice rough. 

The crowd behind them cheered as Roswell took possession of the ball. 

Michael drew himself straighter to watch the game and Alex would have believed he was Ok - he wanted to - but a grimace betrayed Michael's poor attempt to hide a spike of pain. 

Alex sniffed, steeling his expression against the burn building behind his nose. He worried about Michael’s use of _they_. Did he mean their teammates? Last week’s opponents? Or was this injury courtesy of the generic _they_ \- the word Michael used when he couldn’t, wouldn’t, say anything more? Alex feared for the latter. Of course it was the latter. 

“It’s nothing, Alex. Just enjoy the moment.” Michael cleared his throat and tipped his head back as if he were truly taking it all in. Turning his face up toward the sun, he breathed.

Distracted and calmed by the way the light revealed tight spirals in Michael’s mess of curls, Alex let the subject drop. 

How could Alex possibly focus on the game when Michael looked like this? 

“You need a haircut,” he lied. He’d miss the length when Michael cut it short; he’d mark the days as it grew in. Alex wondered what it’d be like to take a spring by its end, pull it straight and watch it bounce - not that he would ask Michael if he could. 

Alex looked down in embarrassment, certain Michael would know his thoughts if he continued.

The gel pack went unused between them. “Dude, come on.”

Michael’s head rolled to his shoulder and he looked over at Alex through thick lashes. 

Before Alex realized what he was doing, he wet his lips. But his smile fell quickly as Michael's gaze left his.

Of course Alex would remember those details and not the words that drew Michael’s attention away from him and toward the field. What followed, however, rang clear as crystal.

“Guerin! Get your ass over here.”

Alex startled; the coaches never paid attention to Michael. He was still their “wasted spot,” as Alex had overheard the Defensive Coordinator say once after practice. 

“Got lucky last season, but child services will cart the poor bastard off eventually.”

The words had stirred up an ever-present fear in Alex and kept him awake for a week: the worry that the next time Michael walked away he wouldn’t come back. 

Alex had probably been the only idiot in the history of football praying for two-a-days during an August heatwave. He’d needed any excuse to spend time with his friend, to be sure Michael hadn’t been sent off like the coaches expected.

 _Perhaps today_ , Alex hoped as Coach waved Michael over, _Michael gets his chance to prove he’s more than a warm body on a bench._

“You’re running Safety,” Coach announced without further explanation. “Jump in.”

Alex was taken aback. Michael hadn’t practiced as a Safety; he hadn’t learned the plays. Alex wanted to argue on Michael’s behalf, like he should have when Miss Jessica sent the child into punishment instead of recognizing brilliance. 

Alex hopped up from the bench to share his mind, but was rooted to the spot by a sharp look from his friend.

Michael gave a small shake of his head. ‘Please.’ It was only the form of the word on his lips, without air to produce sound, but Alex’s memory played audio from years ago. 

Hearing the echo of that little boy’s voice, Alex kept his own mouth shut.

Alex waited outside the Coaches’ office after the scrimmage, listening to the muffled conversation being carried on within.

He watched through the tempered glass as Michael handed over his borrowed equipment. He held his breath as Michael turned to the door.

When Michael missed a series of tackles and was blamed for allowing two of their opponent’s three touchdowns, Alex knew his friend had cost himself more than the game. Whatever chance Michael had of keeping his spot on the team was gone. 

Michael walked out of the office seemingly determined to keep his head held high. 

Behind the desk, Coach Roland wore a self-satisfied smile. 

From the hall, Alex glared. He couldn’t prove the coaches had set Michael up to fail, but his suspicion was unwavering.

Any hard feelings about the scrimmage were forgotten, or at least pushed aside, by Labor Day weekend.

The Manes yard was swarming with teenagers celebrating Alex’s fifteenth. They mingled and danced in the elongating shade behind the house. Show-offs flipped from the diving board, splashing those on the deck. Others waded in the pool and played drinking games they promised were non-alcoholic. 

Alex’s father was strict enough to send his older sons through the party for periodic cup checks. From the look of it, Harry had already confiscated contraband and was turning the offending smartass out on his ear. 

Alex groaned. Hopefully his brother wouldn't try to ”make an example” out of Lee. Hadn’t Harry been a teen, once? Well, he probably hadn’t been a rebellious one. Alex was under the impression that Harry had always been Daddy's Good Little Soldier. 

Even so, he didn't need to be a jerk. Alex didn't understand why Harry seemed to wear that stripe with pride. The guy couldn't even get through the holidays without sarcasm and snide remarks - most at Michael's expense. Luckily, it appeared Michael had thick enough skin to take it all in stride. 

“Honey.”

The sound of his mom’s call snapped Alex to attention.

Mrs. Manes sat at the kitchen counter among an array of bowls for snacks and dips. “Refill these empties.”

With a last glance through the sliding glass door, Alex peeled himself away from the view. 

“It’ll only take a minute, Alex. You have all afternoon to hang out.”

From the pantry, Alex grabbed a bag each of cheese puffs and pretzels.

It wasn't long before a familiar snatch and smack combo left him empty handed. 

“ _Awesome_ party.”

“Buzz off, Rob.” Alex scowled at his older brother and got a hand to the face in return. Instead of engaging further, Alex accepted that he'd lost exchange. With a huff, he shut the pantry door.

“Mom,” he said in a tone only she would recognize as worry. “Michael’s supposed to be here soon.”

“Finally.” Robert grabbed Alex in a headlock and broke into grin. “Been meaning to teach Guerin how to fight like a Manes.”

“What does that mean?” Alex ducked out of his brother’s hold and shoved him hard.

 _Michael doesn't fight,_ Alex told himself, and he wished he still believed it. There were rumors. There were bruises that didn't seem to heal.

Rob caught Alex off guard with his next attack, a kick to the shin that left Alex howling in pain.

“Mom!”

Mrs. Manes poured dips from store containers into glass bowls and set them along the edge of the counter. Ignoring the squabbles between her sons appeared to be second nature by now. 

“Robbie,” her tone was even and firm, “stop antagonizing your brother and take this to the deck.”

He got in one last jab before acknowledging his mother with a stiff, “Yes, ma’am.” 

When her third born was out of earshot, Mrs. Manes turned to Alex. “The box is in your closet. But I thought we agreed to have Michael come early so he could-”

“Yeah, well, he couldn’t.” Alex didn’t want to think about why. He shook out his leg and limped to the counter. 

“I’m sorry honey.” Her tone was light. “I’m sure he has a good reason for being late.”

“I hope not.” The only good reasons for Michael not showing up somewhere had been, in Alex’s experience, very _bad_ ones. “Maybe he just didn’t want to come.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Alex’s mother pinched his side and chuckled in a way that told him she couldn’t believe he’d entertain such a thought. “It’s _Michael_.” Her eyes shone knowingly and Alex turned to hide his blush.

“Come on, birthday boy.” Rosa took Alex’s hands in hers and swayed to the acoustic chords. “Hang with us.”

Under the shade of the old jungle gym, a small group of band-os and theater kids had gathered. Several faces beamed up at him; his people. And Max - who didn't really count but could always be found close behind Liz. Alex could sympathize.

Evie strummed a tune of longing - one of Alex's favorites. Will sang and Alex ached for his guitar to play along.

“You’re killing me, guys.” He wanted to check in one last time with Isobel. She had to have an ETA on Michael; she usually did. 

Alex spun Rosa into the arms of her sister. “I’ll be back in a jiff,” he announced, but he couldn't make himself leave until the last lines of the song had been sung.

A warm baritone spoke behind his back. “Missing something?”

Alex’s heart leapt and he turned with his arms wide. He didn't need to look first; he'd recognize his oldest brother blindfolded. 

“J.J.! You came?”

Jesse returned Alex’s hug with equal enthusiasm. “Of course, little man.” 

Alex squeezed tighter. It’d been a six-month tour since Jesse was Stateside - longer still since he’d been home.

Jesse ruffled Alex’s hair affectionately. “Well, this is getting long.”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “You can save it. Already got the chop talk from Harry.”

“Easy, killer. It looks good.” 

Alex breathed a little easier; it was nice to know Jesse was still on his side. “Thanks.”

The song changed - an original, jaunty and hopeful. Evie took up vocals on her own but smiled when her brother lent his voice to the chorus. There was a harmony just out of Will’s range; Alex wanted to borrow his instrument just for a minute to fill in and complete the sound.

Jesse’s long arm waved overhead, drawing Alex’s eye. “You’ll never guess who Dad and I found wandering the desert.”

Alex stepped back to see him in full. “Don’t tell me you found Jesus. What would Rabbi Newman say?”

Jesse smirked. “Pretty sure we’d have to go to synagogue to find out.”

“Hey, Guerin.” Rosa drawled as she switched dance partners again. 

Michael settled next to Evie and laid Alex's guitar across his lap. Alex owed him big-time for bringing the instrument out. Familiar with their friends’ style, Michael tapped the blond wood to keep time.

Rosa held her hands out and twirled dreamily through the scene.

Jesse practically dragged Alex away. “Is she on something?”

Alex sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Usually,” he admitted with a sideways glance. “A little weed? But she doesn’t cause trouble, J.J., I swear. She’s just…”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Jesse scrubbed a hand over his face. “Makes sure she gets a ride home. And if she takes anything else or gets into any kind of trouble, come to me first. Got it?”

Alex nodded. “Thanks. So what’d you find in the desert?” Alex followed Jesse’s nod toward the circle of musicians. His gaze landed on Michael and he smiled. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Oh.” His arm wrapped protectively around his youngest brother’s shoulders as if on instinct. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” He emphasized the soft sentiment with a pat to Alex's chest.

Alex received another pat before Jesse walked off. When Alex approached the circle, Michael turned his face up to him as if he knew he were coming. 

Michael held out the guitar, anticipating his need. “J.J. thought you might be feeling left out.”

“Eh.” Alex liked the way his guitar looked in Michael’s hands. “You remember what I taught you?”

Michael adjusted the instrument, squinting at his fingertips as they found position on the strings. “That right?”

Ok, Alex _really_ liked the look.

Alex took advantage of the opportunity, leaning in and hovering longer than he needed. A few minor adjustments put the chord in tune. “There you go.”

Alex’s face pressed into Michael’s curls. “That’s good.” He whispered at Michael's ear, “You feel the difference?” 

Michael twisted and Alex swore that, before meeting his eyes, Michael’s gaze lingered on his lips. “Mhmm.”

An almost imperceptible shift of weight, Michael leaned against him. 

Alex continued to make excuses, unhooking Michael’s strap or changing fingering just to have his arms around Michael as he played. He felt the moment tension left Michael's body and assumed his friend was happy he had stayed.

“So what are you boys making, besides a mess of my kitchen?” Mrs. Manes gave a good-natured sigh as she programmed the dishwasher. “No matter I’ve been through this ten years running, I’ll never get over how much you boys eat.”

“We’ll clean up after ourselves. Goodnight, Ma.” Jesse kissed his mom’s cheek before she passed by.

A chorus of goodnights followed her exit.

Michael caught the quart of ice cream Alex chucked at him and served himself a generous portion. 

“Might as well finish it off,” Jesse permissed. 

“Geez, Guerin, was half a cow, cake, and pizza not enough?”

“Shut up, Rob,” Alex mumbled around a spoon of vanilla bean. 

“What? Oh, cause clearly I’m embarrassing him,” Robert peeked over his shoulder and opened the fridge. A pair of glass bottles clinked in his hand. “Don’t tell Dad.”

“Don’t tell me what?”

The Manes boys stood a united front as their father walked into the kitchen. With an arched eyebrow, the Sgt. rested his gaze on Michael. “Who swiped the beer?”

Alex refrained from casting a mean side-eye at Robert, Resident Dumbass; the Sgt. _always_ found out.

Michael took a deep breath before looking up at Sgt. Manes and surprising them all. “I’m not your Narc, sir.”

Sgt. Manes twitched. “Excuse me?”

“Oh!” Robert pumped his fist in the air as he hollered. “Guerin grew some balls!”

Jesse held his stomach as he laughed. “Dad, be cool, be cool. We made him say that.”

It was a lie - one Alex very much appreciated.

Sgt. Manes cast his pointed finger around the room. “I’m going to chalk this up to too much sugar and caffeine. And to you all being a bunch of overgrown toddlers.” He heaved a heavy sigh as he considered a suitable consequence. “This week, you all join me on my runs.”

Alex hopped onto the counter in a small act of defiance. “You can’t make toddlers run, Dad.”

“Oh I can,” the Sgt. insisted, “and I will.”

They watched Sgt. Manes go back from whence he came and giggled into mouthfuls of their late-night snacks.

“Guerin,” Robert said, still impressed, “save some sass for when Harry gets back. I’d _pay_ to see him blow a gasket.”

Michael had been looking at ease with the banter; it was a knife to Alex’s heart to see his friend suddenly wearing a frown. “Why would you want to get Harry upset?”

Robert scoffed. “Cause he’s an asshole.”

“Shits all over everything,” Alex confirmed.

With a shrug, Michael disagreed. “I thought he was alright at Thanksgiving.” 

Alex’s mouth went dry as he shared a look with his brothers. Jesse kept his expression neutral, but Robert’s eyes went soft. It was the first time Alex saw Michael on the receiving end of someone’s pity. 

Michael hadn’t learned the disdain Harry held for him. That was a blessing, of sorts, but bittersweet.

Robert made a small sound like he was going to start talking. To say what? An apology? An explanation? Anything, at that point, could have ruined what had otherwise been a near perfect day. 

Alex jumped to the floor before his brother told Michael something couldn’t take back. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His suggestion was too eager, but it had to be better than the alternative. 

“Uh, sure. Ok.” As Michael placed his bowl in the sink, Alex turned from the kitchen with a racing pulse.

 

Alex's chest clenched uncomfortably at the top of the stairs. But it wasn't the trip to the second floor that left him breathless. “I missed your birthday,” he said as Michael followed. “A few of them.” 

Alex sucked his lip and went to his closet. He found Michael's box right where his mother claimed she'd placed it.

The bedroom was too quiet. Usually there was music, the radio playing, at least. Alex hummed to ease his nerves. He didn’t recognize the tune until he saw Michael rolling his eyes.

“Happy Birthday to you, too.”

“Thanks.” Alex placed a wrapped gift on his bed. It looked bigger than it felt in his hands - significant. “For you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Michael looked at the present as if it’d grow legs and run. “Really. I didn’t give you… anything.”

Alex was quiet, standing with crossed arms, until Michael gave in. 

“It’s from all of us,” Alex said once Michael had torn through the ribbon and paper. “My grandparents got me one too, but I don’t know how to ride.”

“You think I do?” Michael slid the skateboard out of the box and turned it over in his hands.

“I don’t. I figure… we learn together. Not such a big deal if we wipe out in front of each other when we’re both beginners, right? Got pretty good patching each other up after football...”

A small pile of styrofoam and plastic grew in the center of the bed as Michael freed his gift of its package.

“Those long walks to the mines will be a lot easier with some wheels under you.”

Michael set the board aside with a frown. “I can’t take this to the home.”

“So keep it in the shed. Grab it when you need it. The code’s easy, in case I’m not around.”

Michael gave Alex one of the half-smiles he couldn’t get enough of. It was the kind that tugged at Alex's center like a tether drawn too tight. “You plan on going somewhere?”

Alex took a step closer in obedience to the pull. “No. You?”

“Nah,” Michael said, the word catching in his throat. He licked his lips and Alex caught himself mirroring the action. “Told the director party’s not over until eleven.”

Michael’s gaze lifted; they narrowed on a spot past Alex’s shoulder. 

Remembering the splash of color taped up to the corner of his mirror - the drawings that had been up for years - heat flushed Alex’s cheeks. His heart beat loud enough he was sure Michael could hear it. 

The knock on the door was louder.

Sgt. Manes stood in the hall with his hand on the knob. His mouth was drawn in a hard line. “I need to see you downstairs before you head out.”

Alex had never seen his father look at Michael with such a heavy brow. “Did someone die?”

“Michael,” the Sgt.’s demeanor remained serious, “my office later. Don’t forget.”

After an audible swallow, Michael found his voice. “Yes, sir.” 

The door closed behind Sgt. Manes and Michael stood.

Alex's heart sank. “I guess you’re leaving after all.”

Michael swiped his hand over the skateboard. His fingertips barely touched the wheels but they spun wildly on their axles. “Guess so.”

The next morning Alex jogged down the stairs, eager to spend the day with his brothers. With school starting Tuesday (and Jesse and Harry returning to their respective posts shortly thereafter) Alex knew their time was limited.

Though light chatter trickled out of the kitchen, the rise and fall of snoring drew Alex to the den. He knew the lump under the blanket was Michael before he stepped down into the room.

Shards of chalk and wide sheets of paper covered the floor. Abstract doodles smeared from one page to the next in a pattern that spilled from the coffee table to the double doors of his the Sgt’s office. Here and there equations had been written down and scribbled out.

Heart in a vice, Alex took careful steps to the end of the couch. He’d only seen Michael draw this much once before; it wasn’t a night he liked to think about. 

Michael’s pigment-stained fingers clutched the blanket under his chin. Once white, the edge of the duvet looked tie-dyed with pastels. Alex thought of Michael’s fingers on the neck of his guitar, coloring the strings red, orange, and pink. 

His friend looked troubled even in his dreams.

Not thinking about anything except smoothing the deep v that had formed at the center of his brow, Alex drew a line over Michael’s forehead. _If I could erase that wrinkle_ , Alex wondered, _would the bad thoughts go with it?_

The line Alex drew continued down Michael’s nose until pausing to consider a detour to Michael’s lips.

Michael let out a soft hum - a contented, encouraging note. Alex traced his line. 

Michael hummed again, this time with a flutter of his lashes. “Alex,” he whispered. His breath warmed Alex’s hovering palm.

The hair on the back of Alex’s arms stood on end. 

Alex pulled back his hand and Michael’s eyes popped open.

 

There was a crash of ceramic in the corner - a lamp laid in pieces on the floor. 

Michael sat up, alert, and surveyed the corners of the room in frantic bursts. Alex had seen Jesse do the same when he was startled awake after his first tour.

“It's only me.”

Michael’s gaze flicked to Alex then came to rest on the mess by the bookshelf. “I’m sorry.” 

“That’s not your fault,” Alex dismissed the loss of the old, ugly lamp with a wave of his wrist. “Someone must have bumped it during the party. I probably breathed on it wrong when I came in.”

Alex pushed Michael’s feet up and sat. He picked up a sketchbook from the floor and flipped to the end; it hadn’t been full earlier in the week. “So...” 

Michael shook his head, sending his sleep-tousled curls up in a shaggy halo. “Said I missed curfew, even though I swear I got permission. I think your dad believes me; Sarge said he’d rather I ride out the night here than try my luck.”

Alex passed his hand over the last page. He'd hoped the blended hues of chalk on paper would transfer to his hand. But when he turned over his palm, both it and the picture were a muddy grey. “Sorry.”

From the way Michael stared, it didn’t seem like he minded. “I could…” Michael’s lips pressed together as he swallowed his words. He grabbed a stubby blue piece of chalk from the tray. “If you want.”

“Um,” Alex slid closer. He offered his arm and let Michael hold his hand in place. “You could’ve come upstairs,” Alex said as Michael traced his veins. “Could’ve hung out until you got tired, at least.”

Michael examined his lines and extended branches from Alex’s elbow to his fingertips. “Yeah. Your dad hung out a bit. Asked about the usual: school, art, whatever. Wanted to talk about my future.”

“Ah. Convention of the Nerds. Bet you had a few encounters with his favorite word.”

Michael looked up from his work. “Potential?”

Alex tapped his nose and Michael’s simultaneously. “That’s the one.”

Michael sat back and Alex wished he hadn’t been stupid enough to move his arm.

“Your dad says we can take a look through the telescope if we ace the first semester.”

“On the base?” The Sergeant was really pulling out the big guns to let Michael know he was part of the family. Feeling guilty, maybe, for not fostering the guy himself.

Michael tucked the blue chalk away and started gathering more into the tray. “Um, doubt it. That equipment’s crazy expensive and, oh yeah, on the _base_.”

“I don’t know, man.” Alex looked down at the new web on his skin. “I bet Dad’s dying to get you out there. Show you off. Impress you with all that high-powered tech. He’ll recruit your ass one of these days.”

The metal case shut with a snap. Slowly, Michael stacked his drawings and rolled them into a tube.

“He already talked to you about enlisting?” Alex tugged his shirt sleeve down over his palm. “Jesus.”

“I’d have an easier time emancipating myself if I were active military,” Michael informed him objectively. “We talked about a high school thing the Air Force has.”

“What the hell is an Air Force High School? He’s trying to send you away?”

“No it’s like a… No.” Michael took the notebook from Alex's side and stuffed it into his backpack. “We were just talking. Doesn’t matter, Alex. I’m not doing it.”

“Good. Bet he hit the roof when you shot him down.”

Michael didn’t respond to that with anything more than a quirk of his mouth. He busied himself with draping the blanket over the back of the couch.

Finding a stray stick of green on the cushions, Michael reached again for Alex’s hand. And, more than willing to play canvas, Alex let him take it. 

He pulled Michael to sit and exposed the blank canvas of his opposite arm. Comforted by Michael's steady hands, Alex let himself get distracted by the tickle of chalk on his wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are the greatest kindness. <3  
> Thank you for reading!


	4. City of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 100 kudos?! <3  
> Thank you all so much!
> 
>  
> 
> And thank you, again, to my beta, mythras_fire, for listening to my endless rambling about this story (and everything else). You're a wonderful and patient friend. <3
> 
> Any remaining errors and awkwardness are mine.

Alex stood with his back against the bedroom door, using his weight to close it. “How many of these dumb ass dinners is Dad going to have?” 

It was the fourth time in half as many months that the Sgt. had hosted a handful of his commanding officers on a Saturday evening. All they seemed to talk about was the Air Force's new Junior ROTC at Roswell High and how the foundations Roswell’s youth built in high school would open doors for them ‘no matter how they chose to serve their fellow man’.

“Can’t believe Dad makes us cut band practice short for that.” 

Alex’s eyes were drawn to the cowboy hat sitting on the edge of his bed. Michael rarely went anywhere without the thing; it’s presence was a typical indication Alex wasn’t alone in the room. 

Though the position of the hat blocked Michael’s head from view, Alex knew his friend was just behind it, hiding in the space between Alex’s bed and the window. Alex rolled his eyes. At the moment, he was fairly certain Michael wasn’t doing anything more scandalous than stuffing his face full of sweets. 

It wasn’t a secret, Mrs. Manes’s chicken was frequently dry and under-salted - Michael’s least favorite meal. Hating to insult her generosity, Michael had filled his plate with potatoes and picked at the meat politely until they were excused from the table. 

“Hey. Mr. Guerin,” Alex pinched his face into a scowl, imitating the expression of the oldest of the officers that had been present that night. The Major had looked and sounded constipated throughout the entirety of the meal. “You’ll acknowledge me when spoken to, cadet.”

When even that failed to garner a response, Alex crawled over his bed to see what Michael was up to. 

Michael waggled his eyebrows as he rummaged through Alex’s nightstand. “Fixed the false bottom to the drawer?”

Alex had been waiting for Michael to notice. He was getting pretty good at working with his hands. Woodshop was cool and all, but it was Michael’s tips and tricks that made life under the Sergeant’s ever-shortening leash bearable. “You found my stash.”

“No more squishing chocolates under the box spring.” The the bag of Hershey’s Special Dark rustled in Michael’s lap. “And this stash is _mine_. Duh.”

“It is?” It was; Alex never had a taste for bitter chocolate. His personal stash, Jolly Ranchers and Mary Janes, were in his desk for quick access during homework sessions.

There were caches all over: under the chaise cushions in the shed, behind the dugout at school, at the skatepark under the flickering lamp post. They held a variety of things - some stashes were more comprehensive than others. Chocolates, meal bars, toiletries, basic first aid, comic books, and prepaid phone cards were priority these days. And nail polish remover, in case Michael… well, Alex could never quite understand why Michael considered nail polish remover an essential, but it seemed to come in handy. Acetone was the item most frequently needing resupply.

“Did Sarge kiss you goodnight already or what?”

“Yep.” Alex twisted over the bed to reach their guitars. “He and the Major even read me a bedtime story.”

Michael chuckled as quietly as he could. “Sing you a lullaby too?”

“Nah, that’s your job.” With a socked foot, Alex pushed Michael’s instrument across the comforter. His own guitar sang a harsh chord as he took it from the stand beside his bed. “What are we working on?”

Apparently content with his candy and the floor, Michael shrugged. “I kinda told Iz we’d do a song for Talent Night.”

“We?” Alex squinted at him in suspicion. “Or me?”

“Well, she wants you. I mean, your band.” Michael sucked on a fun size chocolate and unwrapped another. “But I said I’d try something on my own.”

Alex sat cross-legged on the bed, adjusting his strings until they rang true. “Well look at you!” He held himself back from reaching down to pinch Michael's cheek in pride. “Have something in mind?”

“Um,” Michael flushed as though he'd gotten pinched after all. “I dunno.” He replaced the bag of sweets in the bottom drawer, securing the board more soundly than it had been before.

Alex plucked a staccato melody as he considered Michael's strengths vocally and on guitar. “When you figure it out, let me know if I can help.”

Michael scrambled onto the bed and into Alex’s space without warning. “Ok.” It was out of habit that Alex bent his head for Michael’s hat. So often had Michael placed it on Alex’s head while he played, the gesture had become second nature. Michael wore the barest hint of a smile as he adjusted the fit. His breath carried the smell of the chocolate still melting on his tongue. 

Apparently satisfied with Alex’s look, Michael sat back with a wink. 

The muscles of Alex’s cheeks tensed with the effort it took to hold back his smile. 

Michael ate the last square of his candy as he squirmed into position across from Alex. Then, he wadded the handful of wrappers into a small ball and shoved them into his jeans pocket. He was getting better at keeping a low profile. Gone were the days of paper and chalk littering the Manes’s home. Now, it was hard to know if Michael had come and gone. 

From behind his back and seemingly out of thin air, Michael produced a bottle of nail polish.

Alex’s fingers tripped over their tune. He doubled back: _Practice makes permanent._ “You should do sleight of hand,” he suggested, not for the first time.

“Why?” Michael pulled his guitar across his lap. “Because you’re as perceptive as a brick?”

“No, because you-” Alex kicked Michael’s legs as they sat. “Aren’t you going to play?”

“We practiced with Eve and Will all day.” Michael used the body of his guitar as a tabletop to color his nails black. “Is this the only one we have?”

“What color do you want?”

Michael glanced at the mirror - more specifically, the cloudy pastel pages that now almost covered the reflective surface. 

Alex cringed. “I may push Dad, but I’m not about to ask to get my ass kicked in school, man.”

“Ugh, no, me neither. I was thinking of something else.” Michael’s hand slipped, sending a long line of black down the back of his hand. “Crap.”

Alex struck discordant chords at Michael’s expense. “Hall closet. You know the one.” For an artist, Michael’s fine motor skills failed him with astonishing frequency; when it came to painting his nails, precision was severely lacking. 

Michael reached the bedroom door in time for Sgt. Manes to open it and meet him face to face. A pharmacy bag hung from the Sgt.’s finger.

“I won’t pretend to know what goes on with the whole grunge punk scene, but the way you boys go through nail polish remover is starting to concern me.” He moved the bag just out of reach as he peered around Michael to his son. “You’re not _huffing_ are you? Freebasing?” 

Alex’s jaw hit the floor as he and Michael exchanged looks. “What? No! We’re not freebasing! Dad!”

“I mean, I know you’re not.” Sgt. Manes scrubbed a hand over his face. “But… maybe if you’re having that much trouble doing the nail paint stuff you could-”

“Wear eye liner?”

“Not under my roof.” The rule was clipped, without a hint of amusement. “I mean… your mother told me to breathe, so I’m breathing.” Sgt. Manes grit his teeth and exhaled sharply. “I’m breathing.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Alex couldn’t contain his giggles, “You’re a natural.”

The Sergeant’s next breath didn’t come quite so easily.

Alex bit his lips together in an attempt to contain himself, “Sorry, sir.”

Despite Alex’s trouble with the apology, Michael’s sincerity shone through. “He is, sir. We are.” 

“I brought you something. For the ceremony. It’s an important day for me, for all of us.” He pulled out a small bottle of clear polish and held it between his fingers. 

Alex’s giggles broke through again. “Um, did _you_ buy us that?” 

“And more of that acetone remover you boys go through like water.” 

Michael took the bag and bottle as offered and returned to Alex at the bed. He greeted his friend with a smack.

“Lemme see that.” Alex was eager to show his appreciation for the top coat and began applying it right away. 

Sgt. Manes waited in the hall as the boys examined his purchases. “Is it-” He decided against a question and settled on giving another order. “You’ll wear that or nothing.”

At the stern warning, Alex fell back in a fit of laughter. Michael caught him from falling off the edge of the bed, but the clear polish fell from Alex’s hand. The bottle landed perfectly on Alex’s chest before tipping over. It left behind a shiny trail as it rolled over his clothes and onto his skin. 

Michael swore under his breath.

Alex lifted the bottle from the crook of his neck and nearly gagged as the bottle dumped half of its contents onto his chin. Sputtering, he curled into another fit. “I guess you better get a few bottles of each, Dad.”

Sgt. Manes sighed as he pulled the bedroom door shut. “I love my teenage son.” It was a mantra he’d been using more frequently as of late.

Lying on his back, Alex blinked up at Michael. His laughter petered off. “He loves you too, y’know.”

Michael looked down at him, open bottle of acetone in hand. “Why would you say that?”

“Because he does?” The cotton puff was cool against Alex’s neck as Michael wiped off the stubborn mess. “Our whole family does.”

Michael’s shoulders rose with his breath. He pressed his lips into a thin line and a desire to free them with a touch rose with the speed of Alex’s heart. Michael spoke Alex’s name on his exhale.

Throat dry, Alex’s voice was no more than a croak. “Yeah?”

“You’re dripping polish on the blanket.”

No matter how many times Alex nudged him, Michael chewed on the nail of his thumb. Flecks of clear polish caught on Michael’s lip, then stuck to the edge of his sleeve when he wiped his mouth. The hat perched upon his denim-clad knee, of course, remained pristine. Anything that fell onto it was promptly flicked to the floor of the van.

“Sorry I missed the ceremony.” Michael ground flakes of nail polish into the carpet with the toe of his boot. “I had chores.”

“Told you; it’s cool.” Alex tried not to focus on the wet shine of Michael’s lips. “That part was boring. ‘Blah blah. A million years a soldier and a million more to come’.” He turned his attention to the car window for a distraction. “There was a lot of the usual. ‘Congratulations on making rank of Master Sergeant. Welcome to our Super Secret Club. Make us proud’.” 

An amused voice carried from the driver’s seat. “Alex is trying to say, we’re happy you’re coming to dinner with us to celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed with a glance back at his friend. Smiling, he pulled Michael’s hand away from his mouth for the tenth time. “That.”

Michael wiped his thumb on the dark wash jeans he’d bought especially for the occasion. Alex prevented the hand from returning to Michael’s mouth with a solid hold on his wrist. “So, what does a, um, Master Sergeant do?” 

“Dude… who cares?” Hopeful Michael would give his cuticles a break, Alex showed off his own nails. A stripe of black adorned the middle of his pinkies and forefingers. He held up his hand in the universal sign for ‘rock’ music and stuck out his tongue. “I hope this place has a good bar.” 

Michael frowned at Alex’s insistent defiance.

“Alex,” his mother admonished.

“For Dad! So, he won’t be, y’know, nervous about having so much attention on him.”

As they pulled into the parking space reserved next to the entrance of the restaurant, Alex’s playful grin fell. “I thought Harry wasn’t staying.”

The van door wasn’t even fully open before Harry started in on his younger brother. “Couldn’t help but notice something wrong with your hands, cadet.”

Mrs. Manes turned in the front seat to meet her sons’ annoyed stares and sighed. As she let herself out of the car, she announced to them, “There’s nail polish remover in my purse. You’ll find a comb for that mop of yours as well. One of you be a gentleman and bring my bag when you come inside.” 

“Mom,” Alex began with a whine, but an acetone-soaked cotton ball was already being pressed into his palm. Beside him, Michael sat licking his lips and looking cool as a cucumber. 

Michael scrubbed his fingernails clean as if it were some kind of meditation. It was nothing like the focus he had when drawing or drowning in numbers, but the ritual seemed to ease Michael of the anxiety he’d been radiating just minutes before. 

“Ah,” Harry bent forward for a clear look at the middle seats. His eyes widened in mock-revelation, “The whole family’s here.”

Under Harry’s scrutinizing glare, Alex shared what little was left in the bottle of acetone. “Dad invited him.”

Harry shook his head as the boys cleaned themselves up. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Once they were ‘marginally presentable’ - Harry’s words - Alex and Michael were permitted to follow the Seaman into the small banquet hall. 

Harry leaned between the boys at the door. 

Alex flinched at the whisper his brother spoke too closely at his ear. “Congratulate Dad, greet everyone with a firm shake and eye contact, and don’t embarrass anyone.” Alex’s ear buzzed and itched when Harry finally pulled away.

Michael looked around the U of tables and chairs set up around the room, likely recognizing no one. “Where should I go?”

Harry scoffed. “Where do you usually go, genius?”

Michael’s mouth quirked in a wry smile like he was deciding whether or not to make a joke. 

“Follow Alex.” Harry stood tall, as if impressing Michael was about finding the perfect posture by which he could look down his nose. “Obviously.”

Newly promoted Master Sergeant Manes sat at the center table. Across from him, Mrs. Manes nodded in conversation with a small group of their friends. Alex recognized some of their company: a few Officers that had kids around his brothers’ ages, the mayor, and the chief of police. Farther down the table were familiar faces from the recent dinners at the Manes’s home. But, the men flanking his father weren’t anyone Alex had seen before. 

“Come ‘ere, son!” M.Sgt. Manes stood as he waved Alex and Michael closer. “This is Alex,” he said most pointedly to the strangers. “He’ll make a fair Airman one day. If he ever gets his head out of the clouds.”

Alex’s eyebrows came together as he read the crowd. “Thought ‘in the clouds’ was right about where you’d want an Airman’s head to be, sir.”

M.Sgt. Manes’s mouth pulled into a tight smile. “Not the way you do it, son.”

Alex swallowed hard at his first taste of the Sergeant’s demeanor at a military event. It wasn’t the same father he encountered when he was younger - certainly not the dad who stargazed from the lawn and bought them nail polish even though it drove him nuts. 

A hand clasped Alex’s shoulder so roughly it hurt and Harry’s voice broke through the uneasy silence. “So, you’ve already got Alex on that bus to Lackland, eh, sir?”

M.Sgt. Manes acknowledged his older child with a nod, but ignored the question about sending Alex to basic military training. “Everyone here knows of Harry.”

“Navy man,” the mayor took Harry’s hand first. “How’s the water?”

Harry responded with a quick and charming smile. “Wet.”

Alex tried to pull Michael away and leave, but his father had other plans. 

“And _this_ is Mr. Guerin.”

“Ah, Guerin,” the severe-looking officer to the M.Sgt’s right put down his drink. He cleared his throat with a pair of grunts. “We’ve heard a lot about you. You have a bright future, if you make the right choices. Manes tells me the new ROTC at Roswell High is coming along.”

Michael shifted at Alex’s side but took the men’s hands as they were extended to him. “Thank you, sirs. But I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m just not sure life in the military is for me.”

An expression Alex couldn’t place passed over the officer’s features. “Well, the Air Force isn’t going anywhere, Mr. Guerin. We’ll have our eye on you until you change your mind.”

Alex paced his father’s office before planting himself square in front of the desk of wide oak. “What did you tell them?” He couldn’t remember a time he’d raised his voice to his father and now he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

M.Sgt. Manes regarded his son with a measured stare. “Your brothers would never have stood in the way of a friend’s future.”

“He doesn’t want that future,” Alex insisted on Michael’s behalf. “He’s told you that I don’t know how many times.” 

Alex was grateful Michael had a project to work on with Evie and wouldn’t be coming by until later, if at all. This thing regarding JROTC, ROTC, and/or enlisting after high school had to be put to rest once and for all.

M.Sgt. Manes maintained his eerie calm. “Has he? Seems like maybe I’ve had longer conversations about this with him than you have. Or perhaps I’m better at listening.” 

Alex didn’t want to believe it. He and Michael spent hours - years - talking about everything. 

“The Air Force can give him a start - help him to be somebody.”

At his sides Alex’s fists shook with the effort it took to keep whatever composure he had left. “He _is_ somebody.”

“You hold him back, son. He entertains your fantasies of music and Los Angeles, but those are fantasies. And you have the freedom to fantasize because of the sacrifices your mother and I have made. But Alex… Michael does not have that luxury.”

The truth of his father’s words caught Alex like a bullet, knocking the wind from his lungs. 

“There’s no one waiting to catch him when those dreams fall through. He’s out on his own at eighteen and that’s it.” M.Sgt. didn’t rise to his son’s anger. It was as infuriating as it was the only thing keeping Alex from completely crossing the line of disrespect. 

“The two of you may not understand this but your brothers, your mother, and I do: you will complete ROTC and serve your country as an Air Force officer. At the end of all of this, that’s your path, Alex. And you’ll do well and you’ll be a hero.” 

Alex’s forehead twitched as it furrowed; a protest caught in his chest. 

“Now,” his father folded his hands upon his desk and paused for Alex’s full attention, “is Guerin coming with you or are you going to leave him behind?”

Alex stormed out of his father’s office with only a modicum of sense enough to not slam the door. 

As he rounded the corner to the stairs, Harry caught him by the shoulders. It was too much; he needed to be alone. He couldn’t think beyond red and heat and the sting of tears that wouldn’t come.

“Really not in the mood.” Alex broke himself free of his brother’s grip.

“For once will you just put whatever teenage angst you’re carrying aside and listen to me?”

“No, thanks,” Alex started again for the stairs with long strides. “You’re a broken record.”

“I wouldn’t repeat myself if you’d listen!” Harry was quick - caught him before he had gone far. 

Alex spun around, ready to fight; Harry beat him to the punch.

“You know I’ve always thought Dad’s interest in that Guerin kid was off, right?”

“That Guerin kid? Really? And all this time you’ve been so subtle.”

“It’s gotten weird, hasn’t it? Since they started talking about Dad's promotion? And Roswell’s JROTC? I looked at your curriculum; it's nothing like the schools by me.”

Alex shrugged. He didn’t follow military ranks and procedures; he didn’t care. He _really_ didn't care whether or not the program at Roswell met his brother's standards.

“Dad never pushed any of us for the Air Force,” Harry continued. “He didn’t start a Junior ROTC when we were at Roswell. We got to choose where to go. He let us branch off our separate ways.”

Alex rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “He’s just excited; what with mom’s time in the National Guard, now Dad gets to collect the whole set.” 

Harry shook his head - impatient and growing red in the face. “Use your brain. He knows Guerin will follow you with his sad puppy dog eyes all the way to war.”

“You’re wrong.” Alex’s scoff was self-satisfied. “Dad wants Michael in a lab not a cockpit. He’s interested in his science - the way Michael sees math or something. That’s what they’re always talking about, as far as I can tell.”

“So, you do see it. You’re just too dumb to put it together.” Harry’s disappointment was written all over his face and Alex was surprised by how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of it. “Dad’s Golden Child isn’t even one of us. He’s using you. And your friend.”

Harry’s words sank in and Alex knew; after everything his father said, he truly knew. And it was killing him. He latched onto anger instead of the sinking pit that threatened to swallow him whole. “Screw you.” Directing his anger at his brother was safer than at his father. 

Harry dropped his voice, grabbed Alex by the sleeve, and pulled him into the den. “You know Cheryl told me Dad’s been poking around her office.”

“Great, like I care.” Alex growled at the change of subject. _Who the hell is Cheryl?_

“She works at Social Services, numb nuts.” 

Alex opened his mouth to argue. Michael complained about his social worker enough for Alex to puzzle out Mr. Cuddihy was _probably_ not named Cheryl.

Harry raised his hand for silence and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. It was as if he couldn’t bear to deal with Alex anymore. Still, he went on. “She says Dad blocked a match from taking him in.” When he leveled his gaze on Alex again, his expression hadn’t matched the hard tone of his voice.

“Good, they were probably another set of assholes who-”

“No.” Harry didn’t leave room for argument. “Cheryl says these people are decent. With kids of their own. A baby. Money. He could have been comfortable there.”

With everything his father had said over the years about Michael needing opportunities to get ahead in life, what Harry said didn’t follow. “Dad wouldn’t-” 

“The family lives out of Chaves County. There’s no way Michael would stay at Roswell High. All Dad’s work with the ROTC would have been for nothing.”

“Screw. You.”

“You still think ROTC was for your benefit? Dad gains some benefit having Guerin under his command. I just don’t know what it is.” Harry pivoted to the doorway, seemingly defeated. When he faced Alex again, it was apparent he was at his wits’ end. “I’m not saying this to piss you off.”

“Then why tell me?”

“Because you should know!” Harry hissed under his breath, “Guerin should know.”

Alex shook his head and the tears that felt trapped behind his anger fell freely in a mix of confusion and disillusionment. “Don’t you dare tell him. Don’t tell him the only family that wasn’t shit to him was doing _this_ all along. I don’t care if it’s true. He can’t know that.”

Endlessly thankful the Carter’s had soundproofed their garage, Alex cranked up the volume on his amp. He placed his fingers carefully along the strings of his electric guitar and struck his chord with a punch.

“Whoa, easy!” Will shouted over the sound. He ducked under his parents’ garage door and pulled it closed behind him. “The hell happened to you?” 

“Sarge.” Alex riffed. He ended on a long, dark note and living for the way the amp sent vibrations through his knees. “You think we have a shot?” He asked as the melancholy faded from the air. “You think our band can make it?”

Will looked him over before breaking into an enthusiastic, “Hell yeah.”

Alex brought his hand flat against his guitar’s strings for silence as the door connecting the garage to the house opened. Michael stepped through with Evie close behind.

Michael had his backpack slung over one shoulder, acoustic in hand, and a shy smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He tapped the brim of his hat, “Hey, Alex,” as he jogged down the steps. 

“Mr. Guerin,” Alex addressed him, trying for a light-hearted take on the weekend’s awkwardness. It was as much to ease his flipping stomach as it was to bring a smile to Michael’s face.

Michael rolled his eyes and there was a moment where Alex thought he might just coax a laugh from his friend. God, the things he would do for a laugh. 

On Michael’s way to the couch, Alex received a poke in the ribs instead and it was consolation enough. 

The band did what they usually did to warm up - waited for Evie. Once she had positioned the microphones and speakers where she claimed they’d achieve optimal acoustic harmony, she strapped on her bass and called out a song title. 

Will’s drumsticks tapped over his head before beating down on the snares; Alex bopped to the rhythm as he joined in. 

Off to the side, Michael kicked up his feet, making himself comfortable on the couch. His dusty cowboy boots scuffed the already beaten up coffee table - not that any of them minded. It was kind of his, anyway. Michael had a great eye for what could be repaired and repurposed. He’d single-handedly furnished the Carter’s garage from items found on neighbors’ curbs in a matter of a few short months. 

Altogether, he’d designed a pretty awesome crash zone, piece by piece. It wasn’t much more than a couch, table, mini fridge, mismatched armchairs, and an oversized bean bag held together with duct-tape and a prayer. But it was a place all of them enjoyed during breaks and brainstorming sessions. Of course, Alex’s favorite times spent there were afternoons when the four of them hung out as friends instead of ‘The Band and their biggest fan’.

In the corner of Alex’s awareness, Evie flew through her solo with flair. She was completely in the moment - living for the music. Alex, on the other hand, relied on muscle memory to come in on time. He had almost lost himself admiring Michael’s focus. 

With the dark brim of his hat tipped low, Michael didn’t seem at all disturbed by the blaring guitars or pounding drums. Holding a pencil between his teeth and a second to the work in his lap, Michael filled page after page with his indecipherable chicken scratch. 

Alex frowned at his next - intrusive - thought, _What was it about Michael and his equations that had Dad so obsessed?_

Alex let his final chord die out, then turned to his bandmates with an idea. “Guys, what do you say we shelve Gin Blossoms for a while? I think it’s time we send Sarge a little message about his meddling at Roswell High.”

Will’s eyes lit up; Evie ran her fingers through her hair so the short strands stood on end. Michael looked up from his notebook - what Alex knew wasn’t homework - and twisted his mouth in unease.

Alex nearly balked at Michael’s apprehension. Then, he reminded himself, Michael was blissfully unaware of the manipulative nature of his father. He didn’t know the callous disregard Sgt. Manes fostered for both of their wishes.

Therefore, when Will asked, “Whaddaya have in mind,” Alex’s lips curled into a dastardly grin.

“How do you feel about The Cranberries?”

“So,” Alex glanced from the road as his mother dragged out the word, “Talent Night was interesting.”

The groan Alex gave in reply was automatic, rude, and revealed only a fraction of how exasperated he felt. “Please don’t chew me out. I still have a headache from the lecture Dad gave last night. And I’m sure tonight will be just as fun.”

“Oh, I can’t say your song choice wasn’t… dramatic, but I was talking about Michael. You haven’t said anything about… you know.”

“Oh. Yeah?” Alex paused at the stop sign longer than necessary to take in his mother’s expression. Having spent the last half of Talent Night listening to his father’s tantrum, Alex wasn’t sure what his mother was getting at. “You must have heard ‘Real World’ a thousand times while we worked on it.”

Mrs. Manes gave a thoughtful hum as Alex started down the road again. “But Michael didn’t play that. It was that one song from the radio.”

“Well that narrows it down.”

“Hold on,” she said, unzipping her purse. “I have it written somewhere.”

“Why?” Alex scowled; leave it to the Sergeant to lecture him on loyalty and integrity while Alex missed his best friend’s performance. Still, he could easily ask Michael what song he had chosen to sing. There was no need for his mom to have written it down.

“Because,” she answered delicately, “it was beautiful. And because…” Alex’s lungs struggled for air against the gravity of her pause. “I think he was singing it to you.”

Alex waited until he was stopped at a red light before glancing at the night’s program. Sure enough, his mother had drawn a line through Matchbox Twenty and printed Goo Goo Dolls in its place. “Iris?”

“Do you know it?”

Alex wasn’t sure he remembered the song correctly, but he knew he’d heard it, knew it was from a movie. “Could you get the binder from the glove compartment. I think I have that on CD.”

Johnny Rzeznik’s lyrics pulled Alex’s attention from his task; Alex had to focus twice as hard on the road to keep from swerving into the dirt. 

And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now

There had been nights at the mines when Alex swore Michael was trying to tell him something and couldn’t. They’d spent hours elbow to elbow working on homework, or sprawled out in the bedroom reading for school or pleasure, or skateboarding until they were exhausted, or collapsing into each other in fits of laughter at Sgt. Bilko and Down Periscope. They’d watched That Thing You Do and promised music would never get between them - nothing would. 

They’d watched City of Angels in theaters and Michael had gotten so upset he wouldn’t speak for the rest of the day. Alex didn’t know how that translated into liking the film, but Michael insisted it was one of his favorites. 

There were Friday night dinners that turned into sleepovers. Then those extended into 2-night stays and full weekends of homework and hanging out - and the hope that perhaps next time Alex would have the courage to ask for something more.

And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
And sooner or later it's over  
I just don't wanna miss you tonight

Alex thought of the times Michael would show up late in the evenings, exhausted, fried. Having spent hours on group projects with Max and Isobel, or helping Evie with a song she reportedly refused to show the band until she got it just right, Michael would collapse over the covers of Alex’s bed.

“I just need a minute,” he’d say. And he’d breathe deep. And he’d close his eyes. And Alex would swear, each night, it would be the night Michael was going to climb under the sheets, cuddle up with him, and admit the feelings that had been growing between them each day.

Alex listened to the strings and the mandolin and the breathy, intimate tone of Rzeznik’s voice. 

“Mom,” he pushed past the tightness in his throat. Michael had done it; Michael had found a way to tell him and had done it in front of everyone. It must have been terrifying, and Alex hadn’t been in the audience to hear it.

The Carters’ front door blurred as Alex approached. He raised his fist to knock and dashed his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. 

Will answered with an uneasy sigh. “Thought you weren’t gonna show, dude.”

Alex - puffy and sniffling - took his friend’s lack of expressed concern for a kindness. Driving had been slow; it was a miracle he had seen the road at all through his tears.

“Guerin’s with Eve. They’ve been, uh, I don’t know. Working on a song, or whatever she wants to call it.” He led the way to the bedroom hall with heavy-footed steps. “Hey!” Will jiggled the doorknob. “No locked doors!”

“It’s not locked, moron!”

Will grabbed a coin from his pocket and turned the lock. “Yes it was, moron.” He let Alex in and left, grumbling about warming up for practice.

Alex took in the room all at once. Shoes on the floor, jackets on a chair, backpacks by the desk, posters on the wall, guitars propped against the window seat. His brain didn’t seem to acknowledge the bed right in front of him until everything else had been processed and accounted for. 

“You allergic?” Evie asked with a giggle. 

“Ragweed,” Alex answered without missing a beat. It had been knocking a lot of people on their ass, but not him. 

“Oh, we probably have some stuff in the cabinet.” Evie’s hand was in Michael’s hair, moving through the curls at the base of his neck. The private touch - the sight of Michael leaning into it - cut Alex at his core. The way Michael's hat rested loosely on Evie’s head twisted the knife and poured salt into the wound.

Alex looked away, saw the pile of laundry by Michael’s backpack, and blanched. “You spent the night here?” Alex wished he wasn’t observant enough to recognize yesterday’s clothes on the floor. Or to notice that Will’s shirt was at least one size too tight across Michael’s chest.

Michael shrugged and Evie pressed a hard kiss to his shoulder. “I should get going,” he said. 

Evie’s hand slid down Michael’s arm as he slipped off her paisley comforter. She caught him by the tips of his fingers and whimpered with a little frown. 

Michael let her pull him in. He took his cowboy hat from her head with a quiet, “Thanks.” The kiss he dropped to her bangs lasted so long Alex could feel his eyes burning again. When Michael whispered something into Evie’s hair, Alex pushed the heels of hands into his eyes and turned to the wall behind her desk. 

“I’ll IM you later?” Her voice was light, sweet.

“Uh, yeah.” Michael rifled around the room for his things, shoving them into his backpack without his usual care for organization. “I’ll probably be at the Evans’s. So, yeah.”

“Wh-” Alex side-stepped out of Michael’s path when he approached the door. The Manes’s had gotten used to Michael’s company over the weekends; they expected him, enjoyed him. They’d missed him when he’d disappeared after the talent show. “It’s Saturday.” 

Michael rolled his lips as if he were truly considering the date. “Is it?”

Alex blinked at the condescension. Then, he saw it. Of the myriad posters on Evie’s walls, the one most prominently displayed was Goo Goo Dolls. Beside it, larger than life, Nicolas Cage caressed Meg Ryan’s shoulder.

The late nights Michael showed up to the Manes’s exhausted after ‘working on songs’ with Evie took on a different meaning. The increased time he’d been spending at the Carters’ suddenly made sense. 

Alex should have seen it in the flush on Michael’s cheeks when he came into practice with Evie in tow. Alex’s mother had been wrong about Iris; Alex had been wrong about all of it. 

The song was probably one of Evie’s favorites - played for her, meant for her. Now that Michael had expressed his affections to his girl in front of the whole school, whatever he and Alex had would fade.

Alex couldn’t bear to be in the room, in the house, any longer. 

“Alex?” Michael caught him by the wrist on his way out the door. 

“I really don’t feel well,” he said honestly. He jerked out of Michael’s hold and continued to the yard. “Do me a solid; tell Evie, she and Will are on their own today.”

“Alex.” Michael followed with slumped shoulders. “How are you gonna get home?”

Alex shrugged.

“Let me give you a ride.”

Alex sat in Michael’s truck, staring out the window in silence. The town passed by, but Alex saw none of it. Memories of his time with Michael threatened to rewrite themselves, but Alex resisted. They were all he had. His jaw tensed as he relived certain scenes in his mind - the moments when the attraction between them couldn’t have been denied. 

The truck was idling in front of Alex’s house too soon. Neither Michael nor Alex had said a word the entire trip. 

With his hand on the door, Alex hesitated. He and Michael had promised each other: nothing would come between them. Yet, here they were. Alex took a shaky breath, and he saw, with a glance over his shoulder, that Michael was trembling. It felt like a now or never moment. Alex knew he couldn’t leave.

“Mom says it was beautiful,” his voice faltered, “your performance.”

Michael turned more fully to his passenger and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yeah?” The tears on Michael’s cheeks told Alex all he needed to know about the song, about their time together, about the assumptions that maybe hadn’t been off base after all. 

And even if Alex was wrong, this was Michael. 

For Alex, admitting he hadn’t been in the theater during Michael’s song felt both like a betrayal and a prayer for absolution. “I’m sorry I missed it.” 

Michael sniffed again. “You… you what?”

“Sarge didn’t appreciate my rendition of Zombie. Read me the riot act until Mom came out of the auditorium.” Alex fiddled with the frayed knee of his jeans, only trusting fleeting eye contact for fear of inciting tears of his own. If he started crying, Alex wasn’t sure he’d ever find the words to say what he needed. “We asked around for you, but-”

“Nothing happened between Eve and me,” Michael stated huskily, in a rush, and out of the blue. He cleared his throat behind his fist, then continued. He seemed to struggle to find his voice. “She helped me learn the song. Knew it was a dedication.” 

Michael picked at his thumb; the cuticle was already red and raw. “When it looked like you had bolted-”

Alex laid his hand over Michael’s in an attempt to pause the pain his fingers and thoughts doled out. “I would never.” There was no universe, no scenario Alex could imagine where he could ever turn his back on Michael; the notion itself left a hole where his heart should be.

Michael met Alex’s gaze, his teeth biting hard into his bottom lip and only barely holding back its quiver. Alex brought his free hand up to cup Michael’s face and leaned in. 

“Alex.” Michael said his name like it was something to be cherished. 

Their lips touched, light and soft, and Alex swooned. His desire to be kissed had never felt greater than while he was actually being kissed. It didn’t make sense; he surged toward Michael for more.

“Alex,” Michael mumbled into Alex’s mouth. His hands slid up Alex’s arms to his elbows, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Alex felt like Michael was going to push him away. 

Alex gasped at the sudden space between them. He tried piecing together an apology and came up with nothing. He was going to lose his best friend over this and he couldn’t even apologize because… well, because how could he apologize for loving Michael more than anything he’s ever loved in the world?

But then, Michael was rushing in for another kiss - and another - until their sun-chapped lips were swollen and bruised. Warmth consumed Alex from the flush of his cheeks to the curl of his toes. 

Chest constricting, heart fluttering, Alex rested his forehead against Michael’s to catch his breath. There wasn’t enough air. Michael stole kisses as Alex panted and Alex couldn’t help but smile. 

Holding Michael steady, Alex looked into his eyes. “Come with me.”

Michael licked his lips, glanced down at Alex’s mouth and back up to his eyes again. “Where?”

“Wherever.” It was a broad, sweeping request - one Alex felt he had no right to make. But he had to know, he had to be sure, that he wouldn’t be alone. If he let himself fall for Michael, all the way, then he had to be certain Michael would be there to catch him.

“Always.” It was one word, but was whispered with more emotion than Alex had ever heard, ever felt, before. It was one word, and when spoken by Michael, it felt like the only word Alex would ever need. 

And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's meant to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "Iris" was written by Johnny Rzeznik for the City of Angels soundtrack, released in 1998.
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story so far.  
> Your kudos and comments are love <3


	5. Two Small Pieces of Glass (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up with Michael and Alex a couple of weeks into their secret relationship.
> 
> **~**
> 
> A/N: Chapter title is taken from "Two Small Pieces of Glass - The Amazing Telescope" Plantetarium Show - Produced By Produced by Imiloa Astronomy Center Buhl Planetarium Interstellar Studios
> 
> Heads up: In case it wasn't clear from context (which it likely wasn't - I apologize), Alex and Michael's story begins in 1990, instead of the canonical "age 7" 1997 de-pod. :: Roswell High School's Graduating Class of 2000 ::

A spring breeze swept over Alex as he stretched out shirtless under a cloudless sky. The air was cool on his sun-warmed back, but it was Michael’s callused fingers, scratching sharp, angled patterns across his shoulders, that sent shivers up his spine.

Alex shifted under Michael’s weight. “Do that again.” His request was sleepy and content. Afternoons in the desert sun relaxed Alex in ways nothing else could. A rendezvous with his secret boyfriend at the old mines was the best kind of stress relief.

Michael kneaded the muscles of Alex's shoulders and neck before his fingers etched their pattern a second time.

Cushioned only by a thin comforter, Alex's stomach pressed uncomfortably against the ridged non-slip mat that lined the bed of Michael’s truck. It didn’t matter. Alex could handle the physical discomfort, would deal with it any day, if it meant time away from prying eyes and rumors. Michael’s hands moved over his back again.

“Hm.” Alex tried to picture Michael's design behind closed eyes. He hugged his makeshift pillow - Michael’s discarded shirt - and enjoyed the heavy scent of cologne and deodorant that lingered in the cotton. The smell was distracting; the picture his mind conjured - Michael, tanned and topless - provided no clue to help him in their game. 

“Ursa Major?” Alex asked cheekily. He smiled over his shoulder to mollify his boyfriend’s response.

Michael groaned in feigned frustration, kissed Alex’s shoulder and lips, then adjusted his straddle over Alex’s thighs. “That’s always your first guess. Why is it always your first guess?” 

As if he needed to clear his blackboard before starting afresh, Michael wiped his palm down Alex’s spine. The sweep of Michael’s hand drew a dreamy moan from Alex’s throat.

“You mean, why do I think you would want to boost my ego with a win? Hmm lemme think about that a minute.”

Michael wasn’t so generous; Alex had only a few seconds before Michael’s fingers dug into his sides and tickled him breathless.

_Deliriously happy._

Alex couldn’t describe himself any other way. When they were out here - alone, together - Alex was _deliriously happy._

So when he turned under Michael’s body and pulled him down, their mouths came together in a clash of teeth because Alex couldn’t stop smiling long enough to give his boyfriend a proper kiss.

“I gotta get up.” Before he pushed himself up, Michael captured Alex’s bottom lip between his. Michael sucked and nibbled, a final tease. Alex grabbed a fistful of Michael’s hair, his desperate attempt to make Michael stay. Michael gave a hoarse chuckle as he sat back on Alex’s thighs. “I got a thing.”

“Me too.” Alex bucked, not-so-subtly, his grin a promise of mischief and more. Spring break wouldn’t last forever; Michael didn’t have to be in such a hurry to cut their fun short. 

Michael held down Alex’s eager hips, resisting the bait. The kisses he trailed down Alex’s stomach were a poor apology for crawling the rest of the way off of the truck. 

“Believe me,” Michael said, making grabby hands in a silent request for his shirt. “I like our thing.” Alex tossed Michael the thin denim button-up and sat. “But this is important.”

The wind picked up, this time swirling dust enough that Alex was rubbing more than the grogginess of their mid-afternoon nap from his eyes. “What is it?” 

“A surprise.” 

Alex made a face of distaste. “Don’t like ‘em. Tell me.”

Michael sauntered to the edge of the tailgate. With a hand on each of Alex’s knees, he spread them wide to step between. Alex squeezed his boyfriend between his thighs and hooked his ankles around Michael’s waist to hold him in place. 

“It’s a good surprise,” Michael insisted and leaned in to plant a playful kiss on Alex’s scrunched nose. “I promise you’ll like this one.”

Michael took his time leaning in for a proper goodbye. “Now, get your fine ass off my truck, cadet. That’s an order.”

“You don’t have authority to order me around.” Alex sassed, but he jumped from the truck all the same. 

Michael shut the old tailgate with an extra shove. “I don’t?” 

Alex tried to hide his blush by heading straight to his car. But he couldn’t resist running the flat of his palm across Michael’s oversized belt buckle as they crossed paths. 

“See you at dinner?” he asked over his shoulder.

Michael cocked his head to the side like there could only be one possible answer. “Of course.”

Opening the door of his sedan, Alex called out, “Hey, Guerin.” 

Michael quirked a curious eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“Good luck today. With… whatever.”

“Thanks, baby.”

The desert was a haven, somewhere Alex’s racing thoughts could pause. It was somewhere Alex could pretend the world would bend before he would break. 

With open fields advertising their isolation, Alex could drink in each moment with Michael; he could live in the present without worry of what came next. Their futures were nebulous horizons, a myriad of decisions Alex was in no rush to make. In the desert, the blue sky of their futures was clear - until Michael reminded them, each time, that it was time to go home. Then, Master Sergeant Manes’s handprint came down like a weighty stamp and blotted out the sun.

More often than not, the desert was only a memory, a wish, a promise for tomorrow. During Spring Break, it had been a dream come true. But the holiday ended, Junior Year started up again, and Alex hated to wake up. 

Alex’s life was home, school, ROTC, and the band. Alex’s life was Michael; no one was supposed to know - and yet Alex worried too many already did. 

Running up the stairs from the foyer to the bedrooms, Alex and Michael’s steps sounded like thunder. 

“Homework?” J.J. asked as he flattened himself against the wall to save himself from being trampled. 

“Uh huh,” Alex responded quickly knowing he and Michael had limited time before they’d be called to supper. The thought of sitting through a family dinner without first getting his hands on his boyfriend was unfathomable. Alex’s cheeks were aflame as Michael brushed past him and into the open bedroom. “Give us a shout when Mom’s ready.”

J.J. stood upon the stairs looking everywhere but at Alex, and the sweet heat that had been building all day while at school turned sour. 

Alex had thought his oldest brother was one of the people who didn’t care, who was happy for him. “Jay?”

It was like J.J. had remembered something important, the way he met Alex’s eyes again with an easy smile. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Call you in a bit.”

Alex listened to his own breathing and to the creak of the stairs beneath his brother’s feet. His heart sank with each step down J.J. took. 

Unwilling to torture himself with speculation, Alex pushed away from the railing, spun toward the hallway, and rushed into his bedroom. The door closed with a faint click. The lock gave an echo of the same.

Michael was standing beside the dresser, shuffling through folded laundry. Alex turned the dial on his boombox and let music fill the room. He approached his boyfriend from behind, dashing his eyes with his sleeve as he took his last steps. 

“Bought us a few minutes,” Alex said as his arms wound around Michael’s waist. 

Their reflection stared at them over the laundry pile and for a moment Alex saw a pair of frightened boys holding each other and looking as frail as Alex felt. He pushed his vulnerability down and pulled Michael away.

Michael let out a small sound of surprise, but he let Alex bracket him against the closet door without warning. When his boyfriend cupped his cheek and turned his chin, Michael bared his neck for Alex’s sudden desire. 

“The best thing about my family,” Alex whispered as he nuzzled Michael’s pulse point, “is Don't Ask, Don't Tell.” 

Michael’s jaw clenched under Alex’s palms, but strong hands held Alex at his hips and pulled their bodies closer.

“Dad'll never ask,” Alex assured himself aloud. His teeth grazed the crook of Michael’s neck, then nipped playfully at the sensitive area. “And I'll never tell.” The muscle jumped under Alex's mouth, drawing a chuckle from Alex’s chest. 

Michael's breath hitched. “Really?”

“Mmm.” Alex hummed against Michael's throat, savoring the moment before J.J.'s shout would pull them apart. “My secret.” His heart raced at the thought of anything more.

Between part-time jobs and weekend BBQs and homework and skateboarding and video games and everything else, there was never enough time in the day. They fought for stolen minutes to hold each other close. In Alex’s bedroom they were a tangle of limbs. Their hands grabbed fistfulls of clothes and hair until they were a mess. And, more than once, they scrambled apart with just enough time to keep their secret.

 _Privacy was bad_ , Alex began to tell himself. Privacy meant roaming hands and the press of warm mouths. It meant urges for contact he wasn’t sure he could handle. Privacy meant moans and gasps and music played a little too loud. It meant Alex’s heart beating out of his chest and not just because Michael found a spot behind his ear where - if he sucked just right - Alex’s knees went weak. Privacy meant closed doors and suspicion. Everything they did, anywhere they did it, was another opportunity to get caught.

But Michael... Michael pushed the limits. 

When Mrs. Krauss turned out the lights and played a slideshow in Biology, Michael laid his head on the lab table he and Alex shared. Though he pretended to sleep, his hand went for the zipper of Alex’s hooded sweatshirt. It started as a flick here and there. It wasn’t so bad. But eventually Michael’s touch started to linger and Alex had to move. The stool scraped loudly against the tile as he scooted away. It drew more attention to them, probably, than Michael’s wandering hand. 

Alex held Michael back after class with some bullshit about their dissection project spoken loud enough to be sure they’d be overheard. 

Michael leaned his hip on the table and dug his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “What is it, baby?”

“Will you stop?” Alex hissed through his teeth. “The touching and the pet names and-” Michael’s head tilted to the side and his eyes went soft “-the _looks_.” 

Mrs. Krauss’s next class started filing in and Alex gathered his books in a pile. 

Grant, Kyle, and some other football players snickered as they passed by on their way to their seats. 

“Guerin,” Alex huffed, hugging his books to his chest, “for a genius you can be a real dumbass.”

Alex swallowed his tongue when his brilliant boyfriend decided that being inconspicuous was best played by flirting with every living person with whom he crossed paths. 

When the band auditioned new bassists so Evie could take on lead guitar, Michael hosted the hopefuls in his lounge area with aplomb. He was charming and casual and comfortable. He touched and complemented every single guest. Almost everyone Michael talked to got a wink, or a _look_ , or a nickname. When he called Alex ‘baby’ there were some people who viewed it as mildly offensive but most of the music crowd laughed it off as ‘Guerin being Guerin’. 

Michael threw his arm around Alex at school or laid out on the sofa in the Carter’s garage with his legs stretched over Alex’s lap and no one looked twice, because Michael did that with everyone. Michael charmed their classmates at the Crashdown Cafe. He stole sips of milkshakes and fries from baskets and pretended to need help on his homework. 

Michael said he did all of it so that he could be in public with Alex without rousing suspicions. And Alex watched all of it with jealousy, resentment, and dread.

One night, during a gig at a small club mid-way to Albuquerque, it all came to a head. 

The cigarette smoke stagnating in the air, the flashing lights, and the sight of Michael gyrating against some girl on the dancefloor overwhelmed Alex’s senses. 

In a huff, Alex stopped his last note short, shoved his guitar on its stand, and stomped down the steps of the stage. “Cutting in,” Alex grumbled as he grabbed his secret boyfriend by the cuff of his sleeve. But he didn’t stay to dance. 

Michael caught himself from stumbling as Alex dragged him toward the exit, the lilt of laughter on his tongue.

In the high-traffic, red-lit hallway, Alex snapped. He tipped his head back against the wall behind him and gave a grunt of exasperation. “You made your point.”

Across from him, Michael stood cool and collected. Bar patrons passed them by as they went through the hall, bumping shoulders with Michael, not one apology offered. 

“Oh,” Michael asked Alex, seemingly disinterested, “and what point is that?” Michael wore a cocky half-grin. He eyed the strangers as if they weren’t nearly twice his age, as if his heart wasn’t already spoken for. 

Alex raked his nails through his hair and tugged on its ends. He wished Michael would give up the act long enough to take the conversation seriously. “Just Eve,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Michael turned his attention on Alex in an instant, his expression blank. “What?”

“Just… Eve, Ok?” Michael looked as shocked to hear Alex’s request as Alex was to make it. “I can’t watch you go around with anyone and everyone with a pulse.” That much had been tearing Alex apart. “I trust you with Evie.” Knowing that his bandmate had not only helped Michael declare his affection for _someone_ at Talent Night but had consoled him after without making any advances, Alex didn’t consider her a threat.

Michael, on the other hand, didn’t look convinced. “You want me to use our friend?” He scratched his neck, seemingly unsettled by the plan.

A large group, carrying the scent of alcohol and already tripping over themselves, pushed their way in through the exit door. Filing through the narrow hallway didn’t appear to have crossed their minds. The crowd forced Michael into Alex’s personal space so the boys were nearly nose to nose when Alex shook his head. 

“Tell her whatever you want.” It didn’t have to be a total farce; Evie could be in on the act.

“Tell her about us?” Michael asked, like he was hopeful, like he was excited to finally share their secret.

The suggestion - Michael’s enthusiasm - sent Alex into a panic. “No,” he whispered into the crowded hall. “Of course not!” 

The light of hope faded from Michael’s features. Not even the red of the bulbs overhead nor the flash of neon from the main dance room reflected in his eyes. 

With Michael newly focused on Evie, school was a new form of torture. And Alex only had himself to blame for the distance Michael kept. 

The excitable chatter of the cafeteria roared around Alex as he watched the false couple from afar. Evie’s chaste peck to Michael’s cheek before she chased her friends to the courtyard should have appeased his envy. Michael’s seeking glance for approval should have calmed his nerves.

Alex ducked behind his hand and poked at his sandwich to avoid eye contact. If there was eye contact, they would linger, and if they lingered, Michael would jerk his head toward the hall and Alex would follow. They’d sneak into an empty classroom - the senior chem lab was usually empty on Wednesdays during second lunch period. They’d risk getting caught.

For Alex, all the fun that should be wrapped up in making out with one’s secret boyfriend would drown in the anxiety of being found. He hated it. It had been easier before - before the song and the first of their many kisses. Alex hated how easy _before_ seemed now. It wasn’t fair.

Alex’s life at school was a stiff partnership during Biology lab, awkward lunches oscillating between the skateboard and music/theater crowds, and after school ROTC exercises where he and Michael had thankfully been assigned to different squads. After school Alex suffered through the hope that Michael would stop by the house. 

Alex couldn’t help but feel guilty when he made excuses for Michael’s absences: “Oh, he must be helping Eve with homework or at movie night with the Evanses.” “I think he went to see Mr. Ortecho about a dishwashing job at The Crashdown.” 

It was a stroke of fortune that Michael seemed to be a creature of habit. He maintained, for the most part, their weekend routine. Fridays through Sundays were theirs - except when they weren’t. And weekends without Michael, weekends without a goodbye or an explanation, were the worst part of all. 

Evie rolled her eyes and swung her bass from her back to her front. “Where’d Guerin go this time? He’s, like, literally the Patrick to my Kat.” She paraphrased a poem the whole band knew by heart only because she quoted a certain stupid movie so often. “I hate it when he’s not around, and the fact that he didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate him - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

Alex turned to WIll who raised his hands in a gesture of annoyance and camaraderie. They both really hated her 10 Things I Hate About You phase. Trina didn’t seem to mind so much; she was oddly obsessed with David Krumholtz.

Their set began with Semisonic’s “FNT”. Alex sang “Fascinating new thing,” into the crowd and imagined Michael standing there listening. He should have been there. He had said he would be there. But after three days of hearing _nothing_ from him, Alex doubted Michael would make an appearance. 

Alex closed his eyes, holding a picture of Michael in his mind. An image of Michael in the sun, with a laugh that stretched his smile wide. “I’m surprised,” Alex sang, “that you’ve never been told before that you’re lovely and you’re perfect and that somebody wants you.” 

When his eyes opened, Alex couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still caught in his dream. Michael was staring, squinting at him. Suddenly, Alex had his boyfriend close and still too far; his heart twisted. 

He spent the rest of their set in a state of anxiety. The lights were nearly blinding, sweltering. Nonetheless, the fear that his boyfriend might leave without a word chilled Alex to his core. 

Alex’s fingers slipped over the strings of his guitar. He couldn’t stop shaking.

For three days Michael had been MIA. Overall the length wasn’t unusual, but it was the first time Alex had panicked enough to visit Michael’s foster home. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Michael’s foster dad was both somehow pissed and indifferent to Michael’s absence. Apparently, as long as social services didn’t find out he had lost a kid, he got his monthly check either way.

Max and Isobel hadn’t been much help either, not that they ever were. They insisted Michael was fine. Isobel was certain - she ‘had a feeling’ - Michael would be back any day. Max said Michael was working on something and needed some time on his own. 

Alex had filled the caches around town in case Michael needed more of anything. They were soon emptied. No wrapper, nor bottle was left behind. No note was placed for Alex to find. That was what Alex couldn't understand - Michael’s inability to leave a note, his inconsiderate failure to call.

The band played on for nearly a half an hour while Alex’s blood ran cold. The second Evie thanked the crowd and promised to return after a short break, Alex’s fear came to light; Michael turned to exit the bar. 

Alex jumped from the stage and pushed through the crowd to catch up. He didn’t care that he was ignoring compliments on his performance or grumbles about shoving through the audience. He had to get to Michael.

Michael had made it to the parking lot and was rounding the back of his greying truck by the time Alex stopped him. At the touch of Alex’s hand on his arm, Michael whipped around. He pulled Alex in by the collar, pushed him against the door, and kissed him hard. Alex didn’t resist. Not at first. It wasn’t until Michael broke the kiss so they could breathe that Alex’s anger returned. 

“Where have you been?” His question came in a clip, voice ragged.

Michael picked at the buttons of Alex’s shirt. “I had to figure some things out. Like you said.”

“Like I- You didn’t say goodbye.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I said I’d be here. I told Eve.” Michael leaned in for another kiss, but Alex’s hand on his chest held him off.

“We can’t do this here.”

“Ok.” Michael always said, ‘Ok’, and each time it sounded more like it wasn’t.

“I missed you,” Alex admitted to them both. Saying it out loud reminded him just how much it had hurt.

“I told you I’d come.”

“Are you coming back in?” Alex’s hand remained firm against Michael’s chest. It wasn’t fair - Michael could swoop in and out and expect everything to be the same. But Alex wasn’t trying to push him away. He wanted to pull him back in. He grabbed a fistful of Michael’s shirt to do just that. Then the slam of a metal door made him jump.

Heart hammering in his throat, Alex shoved Michael away. A pair of men, absorbed in their own conversation, lit up for a smoke. Alex’s breath came in gasps as he stepped out from between Michael and the truck.

Michael didn’t bother answering Alex’s invitation to stay. Or, if he did, Alex was too distracted to hear it. Michael climbed into the driver’s seat. Behind the wheel, head hung low, he sighed. 

Alex stood on the asphalt, dumbstruck by his own inability to speak. 

Finally, Alex found words. A question fell from his tongue like an old habit. “See you at dinner Friday?”

Michael’s nod should have brought Alex more relief than sadness.

 

Alex zipped his hooded sweatshirt to the top and hugged himself against the night. It was a cold one for April, especially when compared to the heat of the cloudless afternoon. Still, when his father said jump... 

The front yard was almost ready for the meteor shower. Alex got the grunt work: setting up his father’s table, a few chairs, and the basic telescope stand. For the most part, he didn’t mind, Michael would arrive soon and keeping busy was better than counting the minutes.

Alex was coming out of the garage with a last folding chair for himself when the rumble of an engine cut out. 

“Right on time, son.” 

Alex heard his father meet Michael with a hearty greeting.

M.Sgt. Manes gave Michael’s arm a pat before walking with him across the grass. “How is everything coming along?” His pace was unrushed; he observed Michael’s small smile with the arch of an eyebrow. 

Alex snapped open his folding chair. Any hope he’d had for a quiet, low-stress evening under the stars had gone once Alex’s father invited himself onto the lawn. But now, also lost was the hope that Michael wouldn’t humor Alex’s father’s grand designs. 

Michael raised his hand in a small wave to Alex before dropping his bag under the table. Then, his attention was back on M.Sgt. Manes. 

Alex wedged his chair between the others, making a racket as the metal legs banged into each other. 

His father glanced over, unimpressed, before continuing with Michael. “You still playing around with the simulations we sent over?” The two hovered around the telescope, swapping out the lens. “Now, you know,” the M.Sgt. teased, “those aren’t really government secrets.” 

Alex listened to his father’s contrived laughter wondering how the man thought he was fooling anyone. And Alex watched Michael - the smartest person he knew - looking up at M.Sgt. Manes like each word he said was an answer to questions he’d waited his whole life to ask. 

At times like this, Alex didn’t know with whom he was more frustrated. He fought to understand how Michael couldn’t see the M.Sgt. had ulterior motives. Meanwhile, Alex beat himself up over keeping his suspicions from his boyfriend and leaving Michael prey to his father's manipulation.

Alex missed whatever comment his father had made, but it left Michael scuffing his feet through the grass and picking at his thumb. Alex sat forward, ready to end the night early. He looked from Michael’s nervous fidgeting to his tight-lipped expression. “Everything copacetic?”

Michael filled his lungs and let the air out in a whoosh. He squared his shoulders, adopting his usual bravado and walked to the table, determined. 

Alex lifted his elbows from his knees, leaning back as Michael approached. Michael’s fidgeting had stopped, but as Michael dropped to one knee under the table, Alex’s anxiety ratcheted way up. 

Michael appeared again, a second later, having produced a manila envelope from his bag. The letter looked official, stiff in Michael’s grasp. He looked it over with a pinched expression.  
Alex focused on Michael’s twisted mouth, transfixed. Even as Michael handed the paperwork to M.Sgt. Manes and bent for his turn at the telescope, Alex’s gaze followed. 

“You worked out the algorithms already?” M.Sgt. Manes slid a single sheet of paper out of the envelope, sounding impressed. Alex held his breath as his father asked, ”What is this?”

“My GED, sir.” Michael adjusted his eye against the finderscope.

“Must have been quite a few hoops to jump through, getting this underage while still enrolled at school.” 

“I-” Michael tipped his head from side to side like there was more to the details than he cared to explain. “Yes, sir.” 

M.Sgt. Manes scratched his chin as he considered the integrity of Michael’s claim. Alex noticed immediately when his father made the decision to believe. The man went from shock to thrill so quickly it made Alex’s head spin. 

M.Sgt. Manes stalked to Michael’s side with a look of absolute pride. If the feeling was genuine, Alex would never be certain. 

Behind that beaming smile, however, there was a glint in his father’s eyes. Alex knew that for what it was - a secondary motive. No longer burdened by a school schedule and curriculum, Michael would be free to work on whatever project suited the M.Sgt.’s fancy. Alex guessed it wouldn't be long before the ‘simulations’ with which his father challenged Michael were swapped for real cases.

M.Sgt. Manes clapped his hand on Michael's back. “Well done.” And Michael turned toward the approval like a plant to the sun. 

Alex bit down hard on his tongue. He let Michael take in the moment. Michael faced him and he smiled. Though Alex wasn’t sure what Michael’s big surprise would mean for them as a unit, he hoped Michael knew what he was doing.

“That's awesome, dude.” Alex raised his hand to offer a congratulatory high-five. 

Michael looked at the hovering hand and answered quietly. “Yeah.” As their palms met, his face fell. 

M.Sgt. Manes watched them from over Michael's shoulder and Alex fought to hold on to his own smile. 

The meteors began to streak across the sky and M.Sgt. Manes stuck to the viewfinder like a junebug to a windshield.

Alex pressed into Michael’s side, grateful he’d sat down to let the old man tinker on his own. “We should celebrate,” Alex suggested in a whisper. “We’ll go out - do whatever you like.”

Michael's eyes bore into Alex’s, searching. “Ok.”

 

At the Drive-in Michael put down the tailgate and sat a bowl of popcorn at its edge. “You need a boost, cadet?” Michael’s arms crossed over his chest as he watched Alex tie the sleeves of his plaid overshirt around his waist.

“Ha. Ha.” Alex hoisted himself into the truck’s bed just fine after his too-loose jeans quit threatening to fall off his ass.

Michael sat on the other side of the popcorn and tipped the bowl toward his boyfriend.

Alex pushed it away with a pinched expression. “Movie hasn’t started.”

“You should eat.” Michael shoveled a handful of popcorn into his own mouth and spoke through the crunch, “You’re losing weight.”

“I’m not,” Alex answered truthfully. He tugged at his jeans, a thrift store find that cost him less than a ticket to the evening’s movie. “They’re supposed to be like this. I think. It’s androgynous.”

Michael looked his boyfriend up and down while licking salt from his lips. “Whatever.”

The sun finished setting, light shone upon the movie screen and the car radio crackled to life. 

Alex didn’t think much of hand placement or body position as he watched the screen. He was enjoying Michael’s short huffs of laughter and his wisecrack commentary more than worrying if they had drifted too close for a public space. 

The slide of Michael’s hand against Alex’s, then, sent a jolt of surprise up his arm and down to his toes. Alex froze in thought. Their hands were technically out of sight, hidden behind the bucket of popcorn; it was possible they didn’t have to move. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Alex wanted to enjoy Michael’s pinky finger hooked over his own, but the thunder of his heart wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t focus on the screen or what he was sure was meant to be an affectionate attempt at contact. His hypersensitivity honed in on every family, couple, and individual present. So many of them, Alex realized, were in uniform, stalking around like they couldn’t figure out how to take leave. 

All eyes seemed to be on them. Even those who scanned the crowd with apparent disinterest. Especially those whose gaze paused on their truck before looking away in haste. 

Alex’s heart ached. He wanted to turn up his palm, thread his fingers with Michael’s, and take comfort from his boyfriend’s confidence and calm. Instead, he caught the eye of The Major from his father’s promotion dinner and his indecision was over. 

Alex slid off the tailgate to the tire-tracked lot and adjusted the shirt at his waist. “Look, I-”

“I know,” Michael cut him off. “You want me to stop.”

Alex sputtered. “No,” he managed past the lump in his throat. “No. I don't.” Alex was scared: that someone would see, would tell. But he was absolutely terrified that Michael would stop. Slowly, careful, Alex admitted, “I want you to keep trying.”

“Then why?”

Alex turned away so Michael wouldn't see. Michael was always so strong. Fearless. Alex wanted to be strong too. “I can't here. Not here.”

Behind him, Michael sighed.

“I’m gonna grab a corndog.” Alex said, selfishly avoiding the hurt in Michael’s eyes. “You want?”

Michael was silent until Alex turned. Then Michael stared straight at him, like nothing else - no one else - mattered. “I want whatever you want.”

Alex’s mouth was dry, readying the apology he’d given a dozen times.

“It’s Ok.” Michael leaned back on his hands and turned to the wide screen. 

Will Smith fired The Noisy Cricket and the kickback sent him flying backwards. The inexperienced Men In Black agent slammed into the wall of the pawn shop, wind knocked from his lungs. That was how Alex felt as he walked away.

Alex grabbed two dogs from the concession stand. If Michael didn’t eat it, Alex could suffer through the sweet cornbread crust at least.

Alex’s approach to the truck slowed when he saw Michael sitting even further from center than before. Alex looked at all the room he had been given, all the space he didn’t really want. A weary sigh passed his lips. He knew they needed to be careful if Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was going to hold any ground in this town where everyone seemed to know everyone. 

The truck bounced and the corndogs wobbled precariously between Alex’s fingers, but Alex managed to climb aboard one-handed. He sat closer to Michael than before because that’s where he landed by chance. He stayed close because he figured wiggling across the tailgate would look more conspicuous than staying put. 

Alex could practically feel the strain of Michael’s eyes as they rolled. But the hand that reached out for the extra corndog was patient; it waited for Alex to soak the breading in a packet of hot sauce and for the line of spicy mustard Alex squirted along the side.

Michael sat forward and his knees spread wide. One hand gripped the edge of the tailgate as he took the first bite. Michael always looked so cool and casual; Alex felt like a ball of nerves and was certain it showed. Alex wished he could stop himself from staring when Michael sucked mustard off his top lip. 

Hoping for the nonchalance his boyfriend wore so well, Alex mirrored Michael’s position. He widened the spread of his thighs and startled when his right knee hit something solid. Blinking, Alex watched Michael’s knee bump his again and pull back.  
Michael’s eyes remained glued to the movie screen. 

Alex looked around at the other people - in their cars and mingling in the lot. Everyone was absorbed in their own lives. Alex breathed a bit easier. 

Michael knocked their feet together once before letting his leg hang loose. Every so often Michael’s boot tapped the sole of Alex’s sneaker and Alex felt like a kid again. He remembered sitting toe to toe with the boy whose secrets were too big to tell. 

Burning with apprehension toward the plans his father had for Michael, Alex resigned to come clean about what he felt. Alex turned to his boyfriend and his stomach dropped. Though Michael’s boot kept up its steady tap-tap, Michael’s attention was on the pair of uniformed officers standing beside his truck. 

Alex recognized them both. The Major had become a frequent dinner guest prior to Alex's father's promotion. The other was the same commanding officer that had given Alex the creeps after the ceremony.

“Mr. Guerin,” The Major held himself ramrod straight as he introduced his superior, “I believe you’ve already met Colonel Blanchard.”

Alex scoffed; he couldn’t help himself. “ _Colonel Blanchard_? As in, the guy who turned this whole town into a tourist trap? The guy who actually issued a press release claiming proof of a flying saucer?”

“A relation of mine,” The Colonel confirmed, but his interest swiftly shifted. “I stopped to commend Mr. Guerin on his latest accomplishments.” Col. Blanchard took Michael’s hand for a firm congratulations. “Do let us know, Mr. Guerin, if there is anything we can do to help you along your way.”

Something about Blanchard, the gravity or sincerity in his tone, made the hair on Alex's arms stand on end. He swallowed hard as the officers nodded their farewells. 

Michael tried to shrug off their visit; he told Alex he wasn’t sure why they’d be interested in him. Michael must have forgotten how close he and Alex were sitting. Every little lie sent Michael’s knee into jitters and the knock of his boot against Alex’s sneaker was almost constant. 

The credits rolled onscreen and Alex closed his eyes for a long blink. “It’s Ok. Whatever it is. Whatever you’re doing. You tell me when you’re ready.”

Michael wet his lips and Alex saw that scared boy under the bleachers, the one who told Alex some secrets were too dangerous to share. 

“You _will_ tell me one day, won’t you?”

Michael dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and gave a slow, serious nod. “One day, I’ll tell you everything.”


	6. Two Small Pieces of Glass (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex could recognize Michael while blindfolded and with his ears stuffed with cotton. His body responded with urgency whenever Michael was near. Like there was more electricity in the air, the little hairs on Alex’s neck and arms stood on end. The blood in his veins seemed to run faster, flushing his face, hands, and feet with extra warmth. 
> 
> “What’s it gonna be?” Alex asked over his shoulder. He grabbed a basket of fries that had been dying in the window pass; they’d go to waste if not eaten soon. 
> 
> Michael accepted the food and his boyfriend’s smile with a wink. “Can I get a Men in Black with pepperjack, jalapenos, and thermonuclear flying sauce?”
> 
> Alex leaned his elbows on the counter to whisper so low only Michael would hear. “You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”
> 
> Michael’s face split into a wide grin. Just as quietly as the question had been posed, Michael answered, “Sometimes,” and the word sent a shiver through Alex’s limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my friend and beta mythras_fire for going over this chapter (which has now been split again); you are amazing.  
> Any errors and awkwardness that remain are mine.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Monday through Thursday Alex woke up to his second alarm, dressed, apologized to his mom for grabbing breakfast on-the-go, arrived at school just a minute before morning announcements, slogged through classes, focused his frustration at Michael’s absence into ROTC, channeled his anger and confusion toward his father through his music, mumbled through dinner with his parents, showered, slept, slammed the snooze button-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Alex rolled over with an exasperated groan knowing it was time start the routine all over again. His feet touched the carpet before he scratched the hard crust of sleep from his eyes. Then, his heart skipped a beat. Only Thursday, he reminded himself as he gave his arms a half-hearted stretch. But Thursday was a hell of a lot closer to the weekend than Wednesday had been.

Fridays, Alex felt alive. Fridays he woke to his heart thundering in anticipation. He kissed his mom as he ran out the door and dashed to New Roswell High looking forward to what came next. Classes held no greater interest to him and his eye stayed on the clock, but his toes tapped his favorite tunes against the leg of his desk as he marked the time. He counted down the 45 minute subject blocks until 2:50 PM when he leaped from Pre-calculus to meet Michael at the skatepark. 

Alex didn’t see Michael’s truck when he pulled up to the gate. The radio died as quickly as the Jeep’s engine. Alex ripped the key from the ignition and fastened the ring to his belt-loop. His fingers ran the length of the chains that hung at his hip, securing his wallet and keys. Michael’s delay didn’t mean anything. A few minutes wasn’t a concern. 

Michael was probably running late at the garage; maybe someone’s oil spilled when he tried to change it. Or whatever. When Michael tried to walk Alex through the truck’s last oil change, Alex hadn’t paid attention. Rather, Alex had paid attention - to Michael: his oil-stained hands gesturing over the machinery, his mouth as it formed each word, the curls that stuck to the sweat of his brow - but not to Michael’s instructions. 

The links of his chain slipped from his hand and rattled at his side. Alex yanked at his hair, making no difference to its mussed style, and assured himself, _He’ll be here._ He dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to wipe worry and distraction from his mind. Instead, all his gesture seemed to do was smear his eyeliner. The cuff of his shirt was good enough to clean off what hadn’t worn off yet; he had to wash up before heading home anyway.

When he was presentable, Alex flipped up his visor mirror. That had barely killed a minute. Hitting the cement seemed like a reasonable way to pass at least a few more.

Reaching into the backseat of his Jeep, Alex searched blindly for his skateboard. His backpack fell off of the bench and onto the collection of soda bottles littering the floor. They knocked together with empty thunks. For the umpeenth time, Alex reminded himself he needed to clean out the car before either of his parents noticed the mess. They had agreed to help with payments on a few conditions: maintaining his B average, following through with ROTC, keeping up with car maintenance, and keeping the vehicle clean. Alex wasn’t going to lose the freedom a car afforded him by failing the easiest rule to follow. 

After a bit of stretching and arm waving, Alex felt a worn wheel spin beneath his fingers. Eager to find Michael, Alex wrested his skateboard out from under his bag with a grunt.

BE-BEEP!

Alex jumped at the blare of his own horn. He smacked himself in the head with his skateboard as he startled. “Really?!” He hauled his board the rest of the way to the front seat with a scowl. 

“Shit, baby. I’m sorry.” Michael looked up from under the brim of his hat. He met Alex’s glare with a sheepish pout and drooping shoulders. “Kiss it better?” Without waiting for an answer, Michael gripped the open window frame. He climbed onto the Jeep’s sidestep so he and Alex were eye to eye.

Alex rubbed the back of his skull while he checked the scene. The park would fill up soon, but for the moment they appeared to be alone. With a quirk of his mouth, he gave in. “I suppose. You do owe me.”

Michael’s eyes flashed with delight as he pulled his upper body through the window. Their mouths slotted together, a dry touch until Michael’s tongue ventured to trace the line of Alex’s upper lip. Although Alex moaned into the kiss, Michael’s gentle request for more was met with the soft press of Alex's hand to his chest. 

Slowly, Michael inched away. His eyes were still shut when Alex suggested, “Later?”

When they were home - after supper, after the inevitable hours of stargazing Alex put up with only because Michael loved his new telescope more than anything - they’d share a room, a bed, the first night of two. Alex lived for the weekend; they really were the best.

“I can’t, later.”

And suddenly Alex was reminded why _sometimes_ weekends were truly the worst.

“Why the hell not?” Just the possibility that their time might be cut short turned Alex’s mood on a dime. He shoved his board onto the passenger seat, hitting the door, likely leaving a mark, and not giving two shits about it. “What are you doing tonight that you couldn’t do all week?”

“Eve has to-”

“Evie?” Alex grabbed the door handle forcing Michael to jump down in haste lest he be thrown from the side of the Jeep. “You know, you’re not actually dating her!”

Staggering backward, Michael pulled his hat forward until the brim hid his downturned eyes. “I know that.” He exhaled a weary sigh. “And sometimes it feels like-”

“What?”

“Sometimes it feels like I’m not even-” Michael looked up and Alex’s Chucks hit the blacktop with a heavy slap. 

Alex shoved his hands in his pockets but really he wanted to knock that stupid hat off Michael's head. Alex wanted Michael to look him in the eye when he finished that sentence.

Both of the boys inhaled short, ragged breaths. 

“Just say it.” Alex’s eyes burned as tears rose behind them. If Michael was going to break up with him, Alex wanted it over with now. He fought the urge to blink. He promised himself he'd never let the ones who hurt him see him cry. “Say it.”

“Nothing, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll tell her I can’t go.” Michael stepped forward to take Alex’s hands in his. “She’ll understand.” He raised Alex’s sleeve-hidden fingers to his lips.

A whistle cut through the air causing them both to flinch. Alex snatched his hands back and crossed his arms over his chest. He and Michael whipped their heads toward the sound. 

Alex expelled a heavy breath, never so grateful as to see Rosa and her band of skunky-smelling eccentrics. Maybe they hadn’t seen through their self-imposed haze. Maybe Michael's hat had covered enough. If Alex was lucky, Rosa and the others would be too high to even remember passing through the skatepark at all. 

Michael waited for Rosa’s friends and their cloud of smoke to clear then dropped his hand to Alex's waist. He hummed as his thumb played with the seam of Alex's shirt. “You want to stay or-?” Michael was good at reading Alex; he knew the park had been spoiled for the day. “I need to give Eve a heads up about the Sweet 16 anyway.”

Alex turned into the touch, inviting Michael's hand to linger. “Let’s get outta here,” he said, voice rough with the emotion trapped in his throat. “Let's go home.”

School was dismissed mid-June and Alex picked up more shifts at the Crashdown Cafe. Waiting tables at the Ortecho family’s restaurant paid better than UFO Emporium. It earned Alex enough to cover gas, his half of the car payments, and have a little money to spare. Additionally, Liz and Rosa were always good for a laugh, a song, or a juicy piece of gossip. The best part of working at the Crashdown, however, was how much Michael seemed to love the place.

The afternoon sun poured through the windows of the cafe, casting an orange glow over the mostly empty tables. Instead of bussing tables, Rosa had tucked into a corner booth with her mother’s guitar. She’d been serenading the staff and their guests ever since the lunch rush passed. No one seemed to mind. On the contrary, Liz’s smile stretched wider and her movements around the tables took on a dancer’s quality. Alex bopped his head as he straightened up the area behind the breakfast counter, adding his voice in harmony to Rosa’s tune. Her music filled the diner with more life than the giant jukebox, with its fluorescent tube lights and chrome details, ever could. Even the speakers modified for a higher quality sound couldn’t compare to the fullness of Rosa’s voice when she wasn’t performing under a fog of drugs or alcohol. 

Alex finished refilling the ice buckets beneath the soda fountain and started wiping sticky syrup from the machine. Rosa continued to play and Alex mumbled along, “Words can’t say, and I can’t do, enough to prove, it’s all for you.” A pair of hands patted the counter behind him, matching the folksy tempo with their own flair. 

Alex could recognize Michael while blindfolded and with his ears stuffed with cotton. His body responded with urgency whenever Michael was near. Like there was more electricity in the air, the little hairs on Alex’s neck and arms stood on end. The blood in his veins seemed to run faster, flushing his face, hands, and feet with extra warmth. 

“What’s it gonna be?” Alex asked over his shoulder. He grabbed a basket of fries that had been dying in the window pass; they’d go to waste if not eaten soon. 

Michael accepted the food and his boyfriend’s smile with a wink. “Can I get a Men in Black with pepperjack, jalapenos, and thermonuclear flying sauce?”

Alex leaned his elbows on the counter to whisper so low only Michael would hear. “You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

Michael’s face split into a wide grin. Just as quietly as the question had been posed, Michael answered, “Sometimes,” and the word sent a shiver through Alex’s limbs. 

While actual dates were few and far between, Michael stopped into the Crashdown Cafe for lunch or dinner during Alex’s breaks every shift. Seeing Michael daily was a routine Alex had missed dreadfully during the school year. And so summer had gained a new reason for being his favorite season.

“I’m off in ten. What do you say I put in our orders to go? Plenty of daylight for a trip to the mines.” Alex took a risk and stroked his finger over the bumps of Michael’s knuckles.

Michael turned his hand to accept the brush of Alex’s fingertips over his palm and down the length of his middle finger. “Ok,” Michael said, and this time the word didn’t sound like an appeasement. 

Alex’s lips parted, poised to tell Michael how much he meant to him, to somehow convey the significance of Michael’s understanding and patience. Alex’s heart swelled with the feeling that had been growing since before he had the proper words to describe it. He gave Michael’s wrist a brief squeeze. If Alex was being honest with himself, he still didn’t think he had words enough.

“We can bring the telescope, if you want,” he said instead. “Stay out. Set up camp.” _A night under the stars, without Dad hovering and monopolizing Michael, might actually be romantic for once._

Alex wrapped a blanket around his shoulders as he squeezed between Michael and the cab of the truck. He sighed in relief, happy the fleece could shield him from the chill of the rear window.

Michael scooted over to make room for Alex’s leg and gave his boyfriend’s knees a brisk rub as they straddled him from behind. “If it’s too cold-” 

“No,” Alex cut him off before Michael could suggest they pack up for home. The night by the turquoise mines had been peaceful so far. The sunset and twilight had been the perfect backdrop to their split six-pack of beer. Now the moon rising among the emergence of the stars was more magical than Alex had imagined it could be. When shared with Michael at their desert retreat, even the strange sounds of the wilderness held a hint of romance.

Clinging to Michael in the back of the truck, Alex looked up at the sky. 

“I’m going to set a new mod on the scope. A new lens too, if I can find it.” Michael’s head rested against Alex’s shoulder as he squinted at a fixed point south of east, toward the moon. 

Alex twirled a lock of Michael’s hair between his fingers and kissed the crown of his head. “You never tire of this, do you?”

Michael sniffed and relaxed more heavily onto Alex’s chest. He twisted to see Alex’s face. “I do.” He closed his notebook in his lap and straightened his legs. Alex frowned down at him. With a sudden pinch of concern creasing his brow, Michael reached up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Not of you. Not of us.” Alex turned his face into the warmth of Michael’s palm. “God, baby, I never tire of us.” Michael’s worry appeared to fade at the steady pressure of Alex’s lips against the pad of his thumb.

Doubt of Michael’s devotion wasn’t what plagued Alex. Michael’s interest in the worlds beyond their own, his painstaking search for meaning in the cosmos, was sparking curiosity in the wrong sort of people. It was the mystery of what Alex’s father and the Air Force had in store for Michael that weighed on his heart. 

Alex suspected something was amiss. Harry was sure of it. And when word had gotten out their father had passed his prized telescope to Michael as a gift for attaining his GED, even J.J. expressed some misgivings. 

“There’s so much out there.” Michael waved at the sky before bringing his hand to Alex’s chest. It shifted to the spot where Alex was sure Michael could feel the thump of his heart. “So much I can’t see. So much I... need to know, and I just can’t get to it.” Michael’s genuine frustration brought a wet shine to his eyes. Alex wiped Michael’s cheeks though his tears went unshed. 

“What is it you’re looking for?” Acute concern for his boyfriend smothered his anger at the military.

Michael’s eyes closed and he nuzzled into Alex’s hand--“Doesn’t matter”--and kissed Alex’s palm. “It may not even exist.” 

Alex adjusted his position from sitting to lying back with Michael settled on his chest. He hadn’t held Michael so tightly since the first time Michael climbed between his bed sheets beside him and shared his pillow until morning. “I hope you find it.”

Michael’s fingertips crept up Alex’s forearm and down again. Their delicate trail tickled; it was a sensation that lingered even after Michael’s fingers threaded through Alex’s own. “Sometimes...” Michael’s voice trailed off.

Alex moved stray curls from Michael’s face. “I’m here,” he said. _I’m listening._

Michael snuggled under Alex’s chin and when he spoke again, his words were almost inaudible. “Sometimes, I hope I don’t.”

Alex lied still, stunned as Michael shifted. The collar of Alex's shirt dug into the back of his neck as Michael grabbed hold to hoist himself further up Alex's body. 

Michael hovered over Alex, his brown eyes almost black in the dark. Alex contemplated his boyfriend's expression with a caress that began at his cheek and traced the slope of his neck. The patches of fine stubble scratched at the pads of his fingers. 

Sadness and sincerity colored Michael’s features; the scurry of the desert mice and rustle of wind through the brush fell away until there were only Michael's even breaths.

Alex raised his hand to stroke the other side of his boyfriend’s face and gasped when Michael’s teeth grazed his thumb. Tingles coursed up his arm and cascaded down his spine.

Michael cradled Alex's neck and surged in for a kiss like he couldn't hold back a moment longer. Their mouths slid into position and Alex moaned. He let Michael lead, following the urgency of his rhythm with sympathetic ease. The to and fro, push and pull of their dance had Alex feeling like he was spinning too quickly. He squeezed his eyes tighter against the dizzying lights of the stars and tugged Michael down to him.

Michael’s head against Alex's was a peaceful weight. Alex licked his numb and swollen lips as he listened to his boyfriend's contented hum. 

“When I go,” Michael whispered. “I want to take you with me.”

Alex panicked. _Go where?_. They'd never discussed going anywhere other than the vague 'elsewhere’ from Roswell, a hope to which Alex desperately clung.

“Would you come?”

Alex nipped playfully at Michael's nose, not ready for heavy conversation, not ready to promise to throw away his education, his future, to run away on a whim. “Sure. Where are we going?”

Michael tucked his face to Alex's shoulder with a sigh. Half-draped over Alex's body, he sighed. “When I figure it out, you'll be next to know.”

“Hey, Michael?” With a touch under his chin, Alex lifted his boyfriend's gaze. “Don't leave without me.”

“I’d never, baby. I couldn’t.”

Michael promised he wouldn't leave, and then, he was gone. Alex stewed in his anger, in the sweltering heat of the summer sun, and snapped at anyone who mentioned Michael's absence.

The fourth of July came and Michael was nowhere to be found. That much was typical, but after a weekend without a word from his boyfriend, Alex had hoped. Alex had hoped and he’d been gravely disappointed.

Alex knew Michael hated fireworks; they frightened him, reminded him of something he wouldn’t talk about. _Somehow_ , Alex had thought naively, _this year might have been different_. They could have found somewhere hidden, somewhere they could be close. But Michael didn’t even make a brief appearance at the holiday picnic. He didn’t hear Evie announce that she had been ‘discovered’ at the mall and no longer needed dead weights on her ankles. Alex wondered bitterly if Evie had told Michael the news before the band.

Michael missed the afternoon Alex spent lying under a tree - hiding out from his dad and the many persons in uniform who had shown up for the town’s Independence Day festivities - securing the secluded spot in case Michael decided to show up, planning his escape in case Michael didn’t.

Michael wasn't there when Liz rushed up to Alex for a favor.

“Get up, get up. We need your help.” Liz’s hand shot out and hauled Alex to his feet before the boy even realized he had agreed to go with her. “A bird fell out of its nest.” 

Liz ran ahead, her feet sending up dust as they pounded over the dry earth. Alex hurried to catch up. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Finally, where the clearing gave way to desert, Liz came to an abrupt halt. Low grass and wildflowers grew in scattered patches over the acres of open land A few wide trees and a dozen or so bushes decorated the immediate area. Other than that, there was little to see. 

Alex turned about for sign of the emergency. “Uh, Liz? Why did you-”

“It’s hurt,” she answered easily. “You’ve always had a delicate touch.”

Alex recoiled, hugging himself. “What the hell does that mean?” There was something moving behind the cluster of bushes behind Liz that was too big to be a bird. 

The noise of the festival carried low this far off. Everyone else preferred to gather close to the vendors and live music on the opposite end of the field. 

Here, away from the crowd, knowing Liz often kept company with Kyle, Alex’s worry came unbidden. He didn't think she would be one to set him up. They’d been working together since May; he considered her a friend. Nonetheless, his eyes flitted around the field for signs of danger.

Liz shrugged. “Guerin let you splint his fingers last year. For, what was it, like, every day for a week?”

It had been 2 weeks. Michael had dislocated three fingers while they were skateboarding. Each day Alex sent him home with splinted fingers, yet each morning Michael showed up to homeroom without them braced. He should have kept them wrapped for longer, but Michael had said he felt fine. Alex had learned, during their days playing football, there was no sense in arguing with Michael about his injuries. 

“What does that have to do with a bird?” 

A bright voice beckoned from behind Liz. “Come see for yourself.” A hand waved over the bushes, too small to be Kyle’s or any of the other bro jock types Alex’s imagination had conjured in his unease. 

Thorny wildflowers clung to Alex’s pant-legs and broke under his feet as he walked over. Dirt crunched under his sneakers, announcing the approach and making any attempt at stealth impossible. “Hey,” Alex said, surprised to see the new face was already smiling up at him.

“It’s not dead,” the girl said in response like they were in mid-conversation. Her report was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for debate.

“I didn’t say it-”

“You were thinking it.”

Liz choked back a snort of laughter. “Maria is psychic.”

Alex narrowed his eyes at the new girl, trying to look more skeptical than scared. “Yeah?”

“I don’t read minds,” she assured him as though she actually had. “I read auras, futures.”

“You should let her read yours; she won’t do mine.”

“And I’m not gonna do his either,” Maria said to Liz cheekily. “I don’t read the futures of my friends.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet. But we will be.” Maria turned a knowing smile on Alex. “Best of.”

Michael wasn’t there to see the girls look on in awe as Alex used twigs and strips of his tee shirt to mend the bird’s wing. He didn’t help them find Sheriff Valenti or flip him off when the cops turned the injured bird away without offer of sanctuary or help. Michael didn’t fight for space on the Ortecho’s tiny round tablecloth with Alex, Liz, and Maria. Or fight like they did for every last drop of ice cream as it melted down their wrists. Or share funnel cake as they watched the sunset. 

Michael missed when Max casually climbed onto the blanket to ask Liz if she’d gotten the Sixpence None the Richer album. And Michael wasn’t there to see Liz blush scarlet when she whispered to Max, “I really only like that one song from the movie.” 

Alex wished for Michael’s presence more than ever when Max looked at Liz with his big moon eyes and asked “What song was that?” and Liz whispered “Kiss Me” and life on that picnic blanket froze as Max’s brain went into maximum overload. 

Maria grabbed Alex’s wrist so hard there were crescent shaped indentations in his skin from her nails. They held their breath and they watched the scene beside them stall like a movie on pause. 

Eventually, Max blinked and leaned away. “Yeah, I like that song, too,” he said like his brain was in a fog and his mouth was full of cotton. Then, Max, the big doof, crawled off the blanket and walked away.

Maria mouthed an incredulous ‘What?!’ to Alex and took Max’s place when he left. “Bummer, babe. He was cute.”

“Meh.” Alex tipped his head to signify ‘more or less’ and Liz smacked him with the back of her hand. Rubbing the sting from his chest, Alex scanned the field of folding chairs and blankets again. He frowned at the many couples holding each other, at the lack of Michael’s curly mop of hair among the masses.

“Where’s the band?” Liz asked as she checked on the nest they’d made for the bird - using Alex’s ball cap and the tanktop Maria had been wearing under her shirt. 

Maria’s interest was piqued. “You have a band?”

Alex’s sneer spoke volumes. “We broke up.”

“Well that sucks,” Liz and Maria offered simultaneously.

Maria laughed at Liz’s wide-eyed surprise. “That’s not a psychic thing, I swear. That’s a - damn, it would have been cool to be in a band with my best friend - thing.”

“I’m not your best friend,” Alex teased; he was growing used to her insistence that they’d grow close. 

“Why not?” She smiled back at him, amused. 

Alex leaned back on his elbows as the first rockets screamed into the sky. The fireworks burst sending out red sparks that shimmered and fizzled over the field. 

Alex considered Maria’s question in earnest and his thoughts filled with Michael. Arms empty and heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, Alex ached for the company of the one who understood him best. “For starters, you don’t know me.” 

“Well…” Maria leaned past Liz to offer Alex a drink. The can of soda was a shock of cold and wet against his bare arm, drawing Alex back to the present. “We’re gonna change that real quick.”


	7. Two Small Pieces of Glass (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mythras_fire for being an amazing friend and beta. <3  
> Any remaining errors and awkwardness are mine.

Alex liked Maria - a lot. Ok, Alex was growing to love Maria. 

In a few short days she had become one of his closest friends - and not because she read his mind or tricked him into divulging all of his secrets. It wasn’t like that at all. When Maria was around, Alex felt like he could truly relax. He could breathe. And when Maria was gone, all he thought about was how Michael was gone, too; so he kept her around as often as he could. 

Alex wasn’t just worried anymore. He was angry. He thought, maybe it should be the other way. Maybe, for other people, they would have gotten angry first and worried later. But Alex knew better than other people. He knew _Michael_. Tardiness or a day’s absence meant Michael had run into trouble with his foster home. Michael usually showed up after such trouble with a story he refused to tell and bruises that spoke volumes anyway. But something extended like this - gone without any explanation, especially after the crap he pulled disappearing to get his GED - left Alex pissed.

Alex lost sleep, bit his nails down to the quick. He walked through each shift at the diner like a robot, dragged himself through the house like a zombie. In the privacy of his room, he scrubbed his eyes raw trying to stave off tears of anger. _That’s what this was_ , Alex reminded himself each time his heart raced so fast his lungs couldn’t keep up, _anger_.

Sunday came again and Alex stared at the large calendar that covered his desk. It had been two weeks since Michael left without a word. The pen dug divots into the box as Alex crossed out Saturday’s date and went over the ‘x’ mark a second and third time. 

Alex had been sure Michael would have shown up Friday. He’d left his window open and the sliding door from the yard to the kitchen unlocked, just in case. Saturday, he’d IM’d Max, Isobel, Will, even Evie. All claimed they hadn’t heard from him, though Max insisted Michael was alright. Isobel replied again, as always, with certainty that he was ‘handling things’ and would be back any day. 

Alex hated them for lying - lying about not knowing where Michael was or lying about knowing if he was Ok. He hated Michael for not leaving a note; for never leaving a note. He hated Michael for never once saying ‘goodbye’; not when they were kids, not when they were just friends, not now that they were more. 

His mom and dad tried to engage him in conversation, but everything sounded trivial when compared to the gaping hole of Michael’s absence. Maria tried to cheer him up, but while she was a welcome distraction, nothing really brought a smile to his face anymore.

Food had no taste and the television made no sense to him. After Maria had gone home for the night, Alex took to wearing headphones without pressing play on his discman. There were fewer interruptions when his parents thought he was lost in his music, but even his favorite songs had turned into too much noise.

Alex fell asleep writing lists: ways your friends can show they care, ways they show they don’t; ways to say goodbye; ways to say I love you. He figured one day he could make a website or something. He had plenty of advice to give on how to avoid being a douchebag to people that mattered.

 

A hard shove and a rush of cold air startled Alex awake.

“Get up.” 

“No,” Alex groaned as he rolled away from the affront. It was still summer vacation and he was brooding. Whatever his idiot father had in mind would have to wait, at least until the sun was up. 

Alex smacked his lips and scratched at his cheek. Indentations from crumpled paper he’d apparently used as a pillow creased his face like a road map. He reached for his comforter and met his father’s firm grip instead.

“Up, now.” 

The way his father yanked him from the bed was almost sure to leave a mark. Alex stumbled toward his closet and put out his hands just in time to stop his face from crashing into the door. “What the hell, Dad?”

“Get dressed. Get in the car.”

Alex blinked at him, his eyes still adjusting to the bright light of the bedroom. The clock behind his father read it was barely past 3 A.M. 

“I will not ask again.” He hitched a duffle bag over his shoulder and waited for his son to move. “You have five minutes or I leave without you.” 

Alex wanted to say, ‘Go right ahead,’ but something in his father’s eyes stopped him. It wasn’t the Master Sergeant staring down at him, not really. The hard glare of Air Force officer was there, of course, but someone else shone through as well. In the wee hours of morning, the dad that had all but disappeared after his promotion was making an appearance.

Fearful, Alex squeezed the bruise forming on his arm. “Dad, what happened?”

Alex’s father swallowed hard and M.Sgt. Manes found his purchase again. He was all Air Force officer again. “Four minutes,” he barked and he stormed out of the room.

Alex threw on what he found: jeans from the day before, a clean shirt from the pile of laundry he’d yet to put away, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers. When he got into the car, his mother wasn’t in it. 

“Dad?”

“Jesse’s meeting us there.”

“J.J.?” Alex rubbed sleep from his eyes. It took him a few miles to recognize the route to the hospital. “Is mom- Where’s mom?”

“She’s already with him.”

“I don’t understand. Dad, what’s going on?”

The Master Sergeant didn’t say anything more until they were standing in front of the stark white reception desk, speaking to a woman in faded pink scrubs. “Guerin, Michael.”

Alex fought for his breath. 

“Hold yourself together.” M.Sgt. Manes gave the order without even looking at his son. 

Alex saw his brother standing outside a mostly closed curtain. Jesse waved them over. Though Alex wanted to run up to meet him, he kept in stride with their father, holding himself together as instructed.

Congregating beside a wall of curtains, the Manes men stared at each other in silence.

“How is he?” Alex asked when it seemed his father wasn’t going to.

J.J. shook his head. “Won’t say who did it. Sheriff’s department picked him up wandering pastures by Foster’s Dairy. No one knows what he was doing out there.”

The beeps of unseen machines hypnotized Alex, calling him toward the curtain. 

“You can go in. He’s got a pretty high tolerance for painkillers, so they have him on some heavy stuff. I think he’s still in a fair bit of discomfort, but he won’t admit it. He keeps saying he’s fine.”

Alex reached for the curtain and glanced from his dad to his brother. “I’m gonna-”

J.J. jerked his chin toward the space quartered off by the sheet. “It’s alright.”

M.Sgt. Manes wasn’t far behind. He came up behind his wife and placed his hands on her chair. “What do we know?”

Alex clasped his mother's hand as he listened carefully to her report, but his eyes were glued on Michael’s resting form. 

“Compound fractures to his left hand. The nerves in his pinky, ring, and middle fingers are all but destroyed. Severed…” 

Her voice faded in and out as Alex’s vision blurred. 

“...started to heal. The doctor will need to break them again before...”

The wheelchair's handles groaned under M.Sgt. Manes's tightening grip. Rage radiated from Alex’s father like a toxic cloud. Alex drew what strength he could from his mother's calm and stepped away. On unsteady legs, Alex advanced to the bed.

“Even with extensive surgery and physical therapy,” Mrs. Manes continued, “he’ll never regain full range of motion.”

Alex avoided Michael's left side, where his arm suspended in a sling above the mattress. The bruises on Michael's face and neck were yellowing, healing, several days old. For days, Michael had been hurt and unable or unwilling to get help. _To get to me_. 

Alex quieted his inner voice as soon as it spoke up. He couldn’t get lost in thought; he couldn’t let himself break. His parents were here, his brother. There were nurses and doctors, strangers and, most likely, townsfolk who weren’t strangers to the Manes’s at all. 

Mrs. Manes's soft voice faded under the whurr of the air conditioner as Alex rounded the foot of the bed. Alex was grateful he could no longer hear her. Though he shivered against the chill of the fan, he let its hum wash over him like a wave.

Seeing Michael under only a thin, white sheet, Alex shrugged out of his hooded sweatshirt. The jacket, draped across Michael’s chest, reminded Alex of their nights by the mines. Out there it was always Alex who bit back complaints about the drop in temperature. Even now, Alex wondered if the only reason he covered Michael was because he was cold himself. He wondered if the only reason he covered Michael was because he could do nothing else to ease his boyfriend’s pain.

Alex folded back the hood strings and tucked Michael in with care, and suddenly it didn't matter if his parents were distracted enough by their own conversation. Alex let his emotions show. 

Alex caressed his knuckles along Michael’s jaw. _Where have you been?_ he wanted to ask, nose burning as tears gathered on his lashes. “I’m here,” he said instead.

Never having seen Michael in such a state, Alex couldn't help but surrender to helplessness. His hand trembled against his boyfriend's swollen cheek. 

Michael stirred at the touch and woke with a groan.

“Hi, hun. Feeling any better?” Mrs. Manes was close, but Alex's gaze didn't waver from Michael. 

Michael curled in on himself as best he could with an immobilized arm and shook his head. His eyes filled with tears but none spilled over. Alex could only guess at Michael’s pain.

“If you press charges,” Alex’s mother said gently, “whoever did this will be charged for your medical bills. You'll be able to afford treatment.”

Michael closed his eyes against the news and Alex put up a hand for his mother to stop. Alex had spent enough evenings wrapping Michael’s ribs in the locker room or slipping Michael antibiotic ointment between classes to know the conversation was going nowhere. Michael had made up his mind; he wasn’t going to tell. An argument wouldn’t serve anyone well. 

Sharp footsteps approached and Alex glanced up to see J.J. and their father. 

M.Sgt. Manes didn't bother with formalities. “What do you need, son?” 

With his unbandaged hand, Michael gestured to the chairs along the wall; he gave a slow nod when Alex lifted his backpack.

Alex unzipped the main compartment of the bag and wasn't terribly surprised by the avalanche of empty bottles and wrappers that tumbled out. But shoved into the bottom of the pouch, wrinkled and stained with what looked to be dried blood, was a folder emblazoned with the University of New Mexico seal. And that was something Alex had not expected in the least.

Alex looked quizzically from the folder to his boyfriend. 

Michael reached out in vain and huffed in defeat as Alex’s father plucked the file from the bag.

M.Sgt. Manes opened the folder hastily, catching the loose packet that slipped out into his hand. He seemed to recognize the paperwork immediately. “You emancipated yourself?”

Michael sniffed and turned to the window. 

M.Sgt. Manes read on as he paced the room. “And this says you got yourself a scholarship. Through UNM’s Air Force ROTC.” Alex's eyes narrowed on his father's puzzled expression. “I- I could have helped you with this. But you did this on your own.”

Alex wondered about the accuracy of his father’s conclusion or if Colonel Blanchard had any hand in Michael’s achievement. The only response they received was Michael’s staggering breath. 

The folder bent and crumpled in the Master Sergeant’s fist. He whipped the file through the air in a backhanded swing that knocked Michael’s backpack to the ground. The contents of his bag covered the floor. 

“Dad,” J.J. took a step toward their father and Alex realized he was witnessing, for the first time, his father truly losing his practiced cool. 

M.Sgt. Manes swore as he shook his eldest son's hand off of his shoulder. He took another stride, grumbled another swear, before his leg thrust out seemingly of its own accord. His boot made sharp contact with a metal framed chair and sent it into the cement wall. 

Alex shrank toward the head of Michael’s bed. He wished he could tell which side of the man seething in front of him was more upset: his father - who had once seemed to love Michael and care for his future, or the officer whose own ambition appeared to need Michael to further the military’s classified goals.

A pair of nurses peeked around the curtain. They were soon joined by a doctor and a security guard.

Mrs. Manes apologized for her husband’s outburst and J.J. tried again to intervene. 

M.Sgt. Manes noticed his audience and immediately changed his tune. A man of reputation, Alex’s father wouldn’t want word to get out that he’d lost his temper in a hospital, not over some kid with a broken hand of all things. He didn’t need much coaxing before he was marching down the hallway. Mrs. Manes and J.J. hurried to catch up.

Alex slumped into an undisturbed chair at Michael’s bedside. They were both quiet for what felt like a long time.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Alex asked without preamble; the question surprised even him. Alex hadn’t meant to sound desperate, selfish, or cruel, but the flash in Michael’s eyes looked like shame.

“This wasn’t something you could fix.”

Alex dropped his chin to his chest and lifted his eyes to stare at the wrapped hand suspended inches over the bed. “I know. I know.”

Silence hung between them again. Their hands found each other; their fingers intertwined.

“You got into UNM,” Alex said through a dry throat. “ROTC?”

Michael’s voice was just as rough. “It was a surprise. For your birthday. A gift for both of us. You would have really had to call me sir.”

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“Well, not behind closed doors.” Michael’s half-grin was almost a smirk, like this was a time to tease, to pretend like things were normal. 

Alex looked at Michael’s ruined hand again and he forgot how to breathe.

Michael scratched at the chipped nail polish on Alex’s thumb and spoke sincerely. “I told you the resources at the Air Force would advance my research. How their facilities could help me actualize my theories.”

“You did?” Alex had cast off all that talk as hypothetical. Michael didn’t want to go into the military, he wanted to study art or astronomy or… _God_ , Alex thought as he considered the evidence that had been waved in his face, _do I really not listen?_

“My dad said you guys had talked about it too and-” Alex bent low, touching his lips to the cool skin of Michael’s upturned wrist. “I thought you had left again,” he admitted in apology. “I thought you had left without saying goodbye.” 

Raising Alex’s chin with a delicate touch, Michael locked eyes with his boyfriend. “When I say goodbye, it will be to this place, not to you. _You_ will be coming with me.”

Alex didn’t realize he had risen from his chair until he was kissing Michael hard, the taste of copper and a bitterness of what he assumed was some kind of antiseptic on his tongue. He licked at Michael’s split upper lip and hoped the moan vibrating into his mouth was one of pleasure and not pain. 

Michael’s free hand grabbed him by a fistful of hair and pulled him so close Alex needed to kneel on the bed to comply. His enthusiasm egged Alex on. 

Alex wanted to stretch out along Michael’s body. He wanted to slide under the covers and feel him in earnest. But Alex’s imagination paired with the little noises Michael made were proving too much to take. Alex traced the edges of Michael’s lips one last time before he had to break their kiss and crawl off the mattress.

“Kiss me again.” Michael swiped his hand through the air, but Alex was already out of reach.

Blushing as he straightened his clothes, Alex glanced around the semi-private quarters in time to see a shadow growing behind the curtain. The metal rings slid along the curtain rod and what privacy they’d had was stolen away.

J.J. cleared his throat before truly entering the room. “Um, If you’re serious about refusing medical-”

“I have to get out of here,” Michael gave his flat response. 

“Alright.” J.J.’s shoulder rose and fell impartially. “Well, Dad says you’re welcome to stay at the house. He brought clothes for you.”

Alex accepted the small go-bag from his brother. 

Michael watched Alex stack shirts and a pair of jeans at the foot of his bed. “Do you ever get tired of your Dad proving you wrong?”

“Huh?” 

Michael looked pointedly at his arm. “Your Dad came in the middle of the night, to check in on a kid who has nobody and brought clothes, brought my-” the briefest glance at J.J. censored Michael “-best friend and the only family I ever really had. But you can’t stand him.”

Alex looked at J.J. himself, but not out of fear that his brother had guessed the true nature of his and Michael’s relationship. The hard line of J.J.’s mouth told Alex all he needed to know about their father’s reaction. Even J.J. sensed there was more to the outburst than a man grieving the injuries of his son’s friend. That had been the reflex of someone whose objective had been sabotaged. 

Ignorant of what had passed unspoken between the brothers, Michael stood to dress. Alex offered his arm to steady him and held back a sigh. In nothing but a hospital gown, Michael’s muscled frame looked pale and thin. The hospital lighting only emphasized the dark circles under his eyes.

Michael pulled the pulse oximeter off his finger and blood pressure cuff from his arm. He slid his arm out of the sling and yanked cords from the outlet until all the monitors went dead. 

When he turned to Alex and J.J. again, his face was contorted either in pain or disappointment. “Hand me my bag?”

Alex placed it gingerly on the bed along next to the pile of clothes. There were still some pencils and scraps of graph paper underfoot, but J.J. gathered the rest of Michael’s stuff and dumped it back into his bag. 

Michael dressed quickly, then rummaged through what J.J. had returned. “I had a notebook in here. Did you see it?”

“Uh. I don’t remember,” Alex said as the three of them checked the room. “Dad took the folder. Do you think he grabbed the notebook, too?”

Michael furrowed his brow. “Maybe. I don’t know why he would. It’s nothing he could-” Michael searched his bag again and let out a heavy breath. “Whatever. It’ll turn up.”

Alex joined Michael at the bed. “What was in it?” In Alex’s periphery, J.J. stepped closer. 

“Sketches, mostly.” Michael itched at a cut near his hairline. “Some - what do you like to call it - scribblish?” He allowed himself a laugh, though it looked like it caused him pain. 

“That’s all stuff from your dreams, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, it started that way. Your Dad helped me decipher some of the patterns I was seeing, you know.” Michael’s gaze dropped to his ruined hand. “Because he’s such a jerk.”

“Michael...”

“Sorry. To you he’s…” Michael shrugged and Alex felt horrible. There was no way Michael could understand the distrust Alex displayed, the sudden distance he had placed between himself and his dad. “He’s been good to me.”

Alex buried his dissent and backtracked. “What patterns?”

Michael crammed his old clothes and the hospital bedding into his bag. “Constellations; wavelengths. Things I didn’t really understand when I was a kid.” Michael cleared his throat as he slipped on his backpack . “Of course, I outsmart him now.”

“You outsmarted him then, too.” Of this, Alex was certain. “You just didn’t have the context.”

“Yeah.” Michael dragged his teeth over the split of his lip until it looked like it might bleed. “Context.”

Alex freed his boyfriend’s lip from its torture with a light touch to Michael’s chin. It earned him a kiss to his fingertips and a gentle smile.

Oblivious to what was transpiring behind him, J.J. spoke in a distracted sort of quiet. “Michael?” he asked, drawing the attention of the room.

J.J. stood apart from Michael and Alex, squinting through the wide window into the black. The moonless sky stretched endlessly before him. “Why do you dream about the stars?”


	8. Two Small Pieces of Glass (Part 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless gratitude to mythras_fire for being my wonderful Beta and a true friend. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone for your continued interest in this story. Enjoy!

From the kitchen, Alex caught sight of Michael lying back on the lounge chair. 

Staring down toward the moonbeams reflecting off the water of the swimming pool, Michael looked at peace in the dark. He shifted in his seat and Alex was selfishly relieved the stars weren’t bright enough to illuminate Michael’s expression, one that was surely twisted in discomfort. 

The stitches in his left hand would come out tomorrow, but the bones would take a lot longer to heal; the tendons would never be the same. Michael rarely complained aloud, but the entire family knew his pain was constant. 

Alex grabbed his guitar and the handle of the sliding glass door to join Michael on the deck. A blast of cool air hit his face as he stepped into the night, but what had his heart in his throat was the way Michael hummed quietly to himself. It was a haunting tune, broken up by short grunts to hide Michael’s sniffs and tears.

Though there were empty chairs at either side of Michael, Alex settled on his boyfriend’s feet. Being next to him was the only physical comfort Alex could offer in the shared spaces of his parents’ home. Alex and Michael’s closeness, their intimacy came in many forms, but that night, in that moment, sitting with his thigh pressed up against the bare soles of Michael’s feet was the best Alex could do. 

Without a word, Alex brought the guitar to his lap and started to play. 

He didn’t get far before the wind kicked up a high, hollow sound from under Michael’s chair. Alex peeked around his guitar and lifted his eyebrows at the sight. A pair of empty acetone bottles rolled to a stop. The small bag of nail polish and files looked untouched on the floor beside them. 

“There was barely anything in the first one,” Michael said before taking a long drink from his blue gatorade. “The second bottle fell and I just…” He shrugged, dropped his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes against the world. Michael's sigh was that of a man much farther along in his years than sixteen going on seventeen. “Please, don’t stop playing.”

There were times Michael couldn’t bear the sight of their guitars. Other times the only thing that seemed to calm Michael was the sound of music playing. This was the first time, however, that Michael had excused himself from dinner with a private request to Alex for a song.

Alex adjusted his fingering and started up again, not having realized he had put that song on pause. 

“Bumped into J on his way out,” Alex mentioned over the music. “Went to get Harry from the airport.” Alex continued to strum, trying to make the conversation look effortless, casual. 

Michael gave a slow nod, eyes still shut tight.

The fingers on Michael’s right hand plucked the air’s imaginary strings; his left hand hung listless over the armrest of the chaise. “So, couch for me, then?”

“No. You can bunk with me. Or he can sleep in Rob’s room. You’re not getting stuck on the damn couch.” Alex would give up his own room entirely if it meant Michael would be out of the livingroom and as far away from his dad’s office as possible. It was bad enough M.Sgt. Manes kept pulling Michael in there for _talks_.

_‘You can’t throw away your future, son.’_

The ROTC had withdrawn Michael’s scholarship, but there were still his academic and hardship scholarships to help cover costs of University. Alex’s father insisted that if Michael took out a bank loan, he could easily afford at least an associates degree.

“Do you…” Alex hesitated to finish his question, afraid of getting a negative answer, “want to share a room with me?”

Michael blew out a long breath and took another swig of gatorade. “With my hand it’ll be hard.”

 _Right._ Alex had almost forgotten why Michael had been cheated out of his full ride to the University of New Mexico. He watched Michael’s frown deepen and hated that he hadn’t had the chance to celebrate Michael’s acceptance and scholarships for even a moment before his plans had been destroyed.

Michael had been proud of himself; he had been ‘going places’. He had been making a life for himself and looking forward to his prospects. But Alex was still struggling to find it within himself to push past the nagging feeling that there was something very wrong with how Michael had been going about it all.

“Dad’ll figure it out,” Alex said, swallowing his unease. “If you still want to go.”

Michael dragged his unbandaged hand over his eyes. “I know.” He flexed his bare foot to poke Alex’s thigh. Michael’s toes crept up Alex’s hip in a brazen attempt to get under the hem of his shirt.

Alex’s anxiety was so ingrained that it spiked and the teasing nearly had him diving for the adjacent chair. He caught himself, but only just. His jitters didn’t escape Michael’s notice.

“Alex.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Alex’s hand alighted to Michael’s foot and stroked his knobby ankle. Certain his mother had turned in for the night and his father was locked in his office with work, Alex relaxed. “The best thing about Sarge is-”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Michael finished for him through the hard set of his jaw. He stared at the pool again. A sliver of silver light shimmered over the water. “Do you mean never?”

“You pretty much sealed the deal with that when you got accepted to UNM.” Alex heard the accusation in his words after they were spoken and he knew he could never take them back.

“And now?”

Alex went on, too caught up in his own thoughts to register Michael’s dilemma. “ROTC means Officer track. Family tradition says Manes men enlist. You’d rank above me at least for a while. Then, the plan is you’ll work under Dad’s wing, right? When exactly did you think we’d get past the whole Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy?”

Michael drew his legs up to his chest. “So you never wanted me in the Air Force. You asked me to follow you and then you chose to go somewhere you thought I wouldn’t follow.”

“There’s more to it.”

“There’s _more_? Nah, keep it.” Michael curled in on himself, breathing hard through his nose. “Do you know how _hard_ it was to get myself in? To convince people to help me? To get through the physical?” 

Michael pushed his forehead hard against his knees with a groan. “Alex.” Michael buried his anger within himself until his shoulders shook. “And now-” He raised his broken hand to remind Alex how pointless this fight truly was. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Alex scooted closer, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of Michael’s calves until Michael had calmed enough to look up at him. 

Alex winced as Michael dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“God, do you even remember what we were like before this?” Michael gestured a hand between them then ran it through his curls. 

The crickets continued chirping, undisturbed by Michael’s frustration, but Alex couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. 

“It’s like, I thought I finally wouldn’t have to wonder if I was standing too close or touching you too much. I guess I was right. Being your… boyfriend? Being your secret… I really don’t have to wonder about any of that. The answer is always yes. Everything is off limits in front of everyone. Sometimes it feels like we may as well act like we don’t even know each other.”

It wasn’t the relationship Alex wanted, but they had to be careful. “We’re talking about the military, Michael. My dad. My career.”

“Yeah.” A corner of Michael’s mouth pulled back in a humorless smile. He brought the gatorade to his lips and guzzled the last half of the bottle. “And what the hell is it with you and your dad, huh?” 

“Guerin-”

“And don’t drag me into that shit because-”

“Michael-” Alex held onto Michael's ankles and brought his chin to rest upon his boyfriend's bent knees. He couldn't possibly explain the tension between himself and his father without bringing up Michael’s part.

“What, Alex? What is so damn bad about your dad actually giving a crap about me? When did you stop believing he _cares_?”

 _Care. Of course that's what he sees._ Alex’s eyes closed as he pressed his lips to the grass stained jeans stretched over Michael’s knee. “I’m scared he’s using you,” Alex whispered, embarrassed and disgusted by what he believed to be the truth.

“Using me?”

“With the astronomy and physics and-”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” In Michael's anger, his words were almost slurred. “Does everyone think I’m a goddamn moron? That’s all I’ve been hearing: from Max and Izzy. And, now, you? You know I had to _beg_ Iz to help me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“So what, your Dad’s got an itch, right? I scratch his back, he scratches mine.” Michael was speaking a mile a minute; Alex latched onto what he could catch. “Do you know what kind of access I’ll get at the base? Computers, processors, aeronautical engineers?”

“What do you need with engineers?”

Michael shook his head and looked to the night sky. His mumble was frustratingly inaudible, and he flat out refused to repeat it. His eyes didn't drift from their fixed point in the sky.

“I thought you didn’t believe in aliens.” If Alex was wrong about Michael’s obsession, he hoped it would break the tension between them. If he was right…

“We live in Roswell; it’s hard not to.”

Alex’s shoulder slumped. “Dad’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he.”

Alex wondered if it was possible to hear someone roll their eyes. Such a face would certainly have matched Michael's tone when he asked, “Well, what do you believe in, Alex?”

Alex licked his lips, not because he needed to stall for time to think, but because he wasn’t sure he could get the words from his brain to his tongue if his mouth weren’t fully prepared. “For starters… you.”

Michael brought his gaze down from the sky. Blood pulsed through Alex’s veins in a rush, screaming he had said the wrong thing again. Then, Michael lifted his eyes to meet Alex’s and Alex saw moonlight reflected off the tears caught on Michael's lashes. 

Alex started his apology; he’d apologize forever if it meant Michael wouldn’t cry. “I-”

Alex didn’t get past the first word because Michael’s knees suddenly parted and his feet dropped to the ground on either side of the chaise. Words escaped Alex. That was good, better; words were getting him into trouble when all he’d wanted was to keep Michael safe.

Michael’s hand curled around Alex’s neck and Alex put up no resistance when his boyfriend pulled him close. Their foreheads bumped and noses aligned side by side like two pieces of a puzzle. Time slowed as their gazes drifted down to each other’s mouths. 

The hitch of Alex's breath welcomed the smell of Gatorade and acetone. His throat felt tight under Michael’s firm hold, but Alex knew that with Michael he'd never be in danger. 

Michael’s parted lips glistened, begging to be finally kissed. 

Hungry and wanting, Alex lifted his gaze to stare into Michael’s eyes again. The space between them disappeared. The slide of their mouths, the taste of Michael's tongue, had Alex forgetting all about his parents just inside the house and his brothers' imminent return. His fists tangled in Michael's curls as he broke the silence with a satisfied moan.

July swam into August with startling speed. For Alex, weekdays passed in a routine of early shifts at the Crashdown and evenings by the pool. Saturdays were reserved for the summer JROTC program and a return home to find Michael engrossed in some project with Master Sergeant Manes. 

They usually had Sundays to themselves, not that Michael expressed interest in doing much with them. Michael’s days were spent sleeping in, watching movies at the house, and training himself to work one-handed on any machine Alex’s father could spare. The riding mower, Michael’s most recent undertaking, ran better than ever. Nights and weekends Michael drank with Rob, debated the meaning of life into the wee hours of morning with J.J., argued the importance of space vs deep sea exploration with Harry, and then crawled into bed beside Alex too exhausted and plastered to do much more than nuzzle into his chest and fall asleep.

One particular Sunday, as the Manes brothers set up the yard for an evening BBQ, Alex caught sight of Michael carrying a case of beers to the cooler. Rob dropped off a stack of cushions on the pool chairs and jogged over to give Michael an extra hand.

Alex closed his eyes and sighed at the pop and fizz of beer cans opening. Apparently Michael and Rob had decided on a liquid lunch. They were lucky Master Sergeant Manes had gone in to work that morning or they’d all be in for a lecture.

“Guerin!” J.J. called out as he stabilized Michael’s telescope in the grass. “Dad’s back in less than an hour.”

Alex offered his older brother a half-smile in gratitude for saying something so he didn’t have to chastise his own boyfriend. 

“Come see if I did this right!” 

Michael held his injured hand close to his chest as he hurried across the yard. His other hand slipped down Alex’s arm as he slowed to a stop by the telescope. 

Michael bent over the set-up and took a rushed look. It seemed too quick to assess anything. “It’s great, man,” he said anyway. When Michael turned to Alex, his breath made it apparent he’d had more than beer already. Feeling crowded, Alex leaned back as Michael spoke. 

“I gotta finish this other thing before the big guys show up.”

Alex’s heart raced as the reason for this whole shindig came to the forefront of his mind: another dinner with Master Sergeant Manes’s favorite recruiters. These dinners seemed like a waste of time; Alex was fairly sure the Major, Colonel Blanchard, and a few fast-talking Lieutenants had already convinced Michael to join them. Michael would be consulting as soon as the right strings were pulled and the red tape was cut. 

Alex grabbed hold of Michael’s wrist before he could pass. “Are we gonna talk about this?” 

J.J. glanced up from the grass where he sat putting away his tools. The scrape of metal bristles against the grill grate came to a sudden halt. 

Michael looked pointedly from J.J. squatting by the telescope at his feet to Harry idling at the grill. Robert was nowhere to be seen. “What exactly are we supposed to talk about?”

“I should go?” J.J. asked slowly.

“No. I…” Alex wrung his hands. “I think you should stay.” 

Alex wanted to come clean. 

He wanted to tell Michael that he, J.J., and Harry felt something twist in their gut every time their dad pulled Michael into his office. He wanted to ask Michael what was being said behind those locked doors. 

He wanted to know what the numbers and symbols and sketches Michael couldn't stop drawing meant. He wanted to ask what was so appealing about getting tipsy with Rob when Alex was right there waiting for attention.

He wanted tell Michael once and for all that he didn't know _why_ schmoozing with the Colonel and the Major was a bad idea, but it was and he needed to stop. 

“Alex?” 

Harry's voice at his back startled him, but Alex stared at Michael and steeled his nerve. “I need to know.” _Your secret._ “You said you'd tell me one day and I think I need to know. Now.”

J.J. squinted past Alex and his hand made a sign to cut it out. 

Alex knew he should heed his brother's warning; he knew he should stop, but he didn’t. The drop in Alex’s volume and pitch came across as all the more stern by the furrow of his brow. 

“Don't trust them tonight. None of us do.” 

Michael's jaw fell slack at the command. After a pregnant pause and leveling a glare at each of the Manes men, Michael brushed past Alex, practically walking through him. He grumbled as he went, “Finding it hard to trust anyone these days.” 

The push of Michael's shoulder against his own turned Alex about and J.J.’s concern came into view. Alex's teeth bit down hard on his tongue as Michael walked straight up to Master Sergeant Manes with an eager wave.

Alex skimmed his toe over the tepid water, disrupting the reflection of the moon as he walked the perimeter of the in-ground pool alone. Michael still hadn’t spoken to him. Since his father came home to prepare for their guests, Michael hadn’t spoken to Alex, J.J., or Harry. Any attempt to talk to Michael was a frustrating amalgam of nonstarters and interruptions. 

The one day Alex and Michael usually had to themselves had been ruined. _Thanks to Dear ol’ Dad._

Alex kicked the metal ladder for the deep end of the pool and huffed. He had assumed that having J.J. and Harry on his side would make this easier. Together they’d read between the lines spoken at their father’s dinners, find crumpled notes with missing clues, and, like the Hardy Boys, they’d solve the mystery. He’d imagined they’d save Michael from whatever mess he’d inadvertently gotten himself into. He’d imagined they’d be the heroes. Instead, having his brothers in on the investigation - and still coming up with nothing solid - left him disillusioned. Worse, Alex worried Michael saw them as the villains.

Deep laughter rose above the soft chatter on the patio. “Gloria.” The way Colonel Blanchard extended his ‘o’s and rolled his ‘r’s made Alex cringe. “This is the best end to a meal I think I’ve had in years.” 

Alex wished the Colonel had left when the other officers said their goodbyes. 

Alex rolled his eyes, but his mother smiled kindly as she lowered her mug of coffee from her lips. “It’s just a sundae, Bill.”

“Eh, but it’s the proportions,” the Colonel said with emphasis, “the proportions that make it shine.”

“Ok.” Mrs. Manes took a last sip of coffee before putting it down. “I think we’ve all had enough to drink.”

Master Sergeant Manes lifted his hand to indicate that his wife could leave the bottle of brandy where it was in front of the old man. 

“One more, I think, before we show Guerin what we found.”

At the mention of Michael, Alex scanned the yard. He thought Michael would be tinkering with the telescopes in preparation to stare at some star that died seven thousand years ago. There was no sign of Michael at his own telescope nor at the giant, expensive looking telescope that Colonel Blanchard had brought along with him.

At the picnic table on the patio, his father, brothers, and the Colonel helped Mrs. Manes clear the table. Alex figured they’d be asking for Michael soon and he wanted to get to him before the others made it his job. 

“Guerin? Michael?”

A grunt drew Alex’s attention beyond the old swing set toward the tree line. As Alex rounded the tool shed, he caught sight of Michael’s feet dangling off the roof. They hung loose, swinging slowly back and forth.

“Hey,” Alex said knocking the heel of one of Michael’s sneakers with his fist.

“Hay is for horses,” came Michael’s quiet reply.

Alex raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend’s sleepy drawl. He circled the shed, looking for a ladder. When he found none, Alex hopped at the roof’s ledge and scrambled up the side, using the wheel for the garden hose as a foothold. Once he had pulled himself up, he crawled next to Michael and stretched out beside him. 

“How did you get up here?”

“Levitated,” Michael deadpanned, lying flat on his back and staring straight up to the sky.

 

“Oh. Of course.” Alex picked up the empty pair of beers beside Michael and dropped them off the roof. The bottles hit the grass with separate thuds. “You couldn’t levitate me?”

“I could have.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Well, thanks for nothing, then.”

Michael shrugged. 

“What are you doing up here?”

“Needed a better vantage point.” Michael shimmied closer but, like most nights, didn’t take his eyes from the sky.

Alex had made sure to give a few inches between them when he sat, just in case Michael was still upset. When Michael chose to press up against Alex’s thigh, it felt like a kindness Alex wasn’t sure he deserved. 

Alex smoothed his hand over Michael’s forehead, brushing back his curls. “And?”

“Still sucks,” Michael’s speech was slurred and slow. “Earth sucks. Can’t see shit from here.”

“No aliens?”

Michael scoffed. 

“Tell you what.” Entertaining his drunk boyfriend seemed like a better idea than getting into an argument about the drinking or the Colonel. “I’ll get you a better vantage point.”

Michael lolled his head to the side, his skepticism written all over his glassy-eyed expression.

“I’ll be the best damn pilot the Air Force has ever seen. And I’ll fly us anywhere you want to go.”

“Fly us to the moon.”

Alex smiled as he scooted down the pitch of the roof. As soon as he was snug against Michael’s side, he whispered placatingly, “Okay.”

“Fly us farther.”

“Okay.” He laced their fingers together and rolled toward his boyfriend to place a kiss to his temple. 

“You’ll be my pilot.” 

Michael’s lips were soft yet insistent as his mouth met Alex’s and lingered. When they paused to breathe, Alex savored the taste of Michael on his tongue. 

“That’s the plan.”

“You’ll be my pilot,” Michael repeated, eyes wide like it was a revelation. 

“Of course.”

Michael laid his head upon Alex's chest, hearing his heart if not also feeling its thunderous beat.

Michael gave a contented hum as Alex's free hand came up to rub his back. “You’re made up of all the stars I’ve wished upon.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“Mhmm.” His bandaged hand dragged up and down Alex's forearm, tickling and itching as it rubbed.

“And my dad is calling for us.”

“Then we should go.”

“Nuh-uh.” Alex carefully slipped his arm away from Michael’s hand before it chafed and moved a stray curl from Michael’s eyes. 

“My pilot needs a ship and a direction.”

Alex’s brow furrowed as he nuzzled their foreheads together. “Oh, is that what you’re going to do? Build us a ship?”

Michael’s blinks elongated as Alex’s fingernails traced lazy lines over his scalp. 

“Will you even remember this conversation in the morning?”

A knock on the wall startled Michael upright. 

“Dad’s been hollering, guys.” Harry’s knuckles hit the shed again. “Get a move on!” 

 

When Alex and Michael returned to the group, M.Sgt. Manes was looking straight up at the black expanse of the sky with his arms crossed over his chest. He stared awhile then checked his notes before bending to look through Michael’s modified telescope. The newer, more impressive model was set up a short distance from the other. 

Alex wondered whose ass his father had to kiss, what kind of strings he had to pull to borrow that one from the base. He was about to let his father know they’d arrived when Michael spoke into the silence. 

“Turned out to be a beautiful night.” 

The military men didn’t express frustration at their late company. Instead, he waved from his spot, face still pressed to the looking glass. Colonel Blanchard stood close, a notebook of his own tucked under his arm.

Michael hid his inebriation well. “Find anything, sir?”

“Nothing exciting to see from where I’m standing.”

Alex was reminded of what Michael had mentioned about vantage points.

“But it’s such a mild night, clear sky; felt right to be under the stars.” It was apparent by the ease with which Alex’s father spoke that his words were directed toward Michael. “You want to take a look?”

Mixed emotions passed over Michael’s features in a familiar rush Alex still struggled to understand. His dad and Michael got along well; Michael was family. Yet after years of growing ease, Michael shied away. It was the first time Alex had seen such blatant hesitation.

Alex looked to his brothers and considered the words he had exchanged with Michael that afternoon. _Don’t trust them tonight. None of us do._

Hugging himself and taking a half-step back, Michael passed on his chance at a close-up view of the cosmos. For someone who waxed poetic about the universe, that was a sacrifice. It sparked Alex’s curiosity and would certainly draw unwanted attention from his father. 

Michael squinted at the moon and Alex wondered if Michael had picked up on the fact that M.Sgt. Manes was one of the men from whom he should guard himself before Alex had expressed his own concern.

Alex hated all the men, authority figures, assholes that had come into Michael’s life and made him terrified of getting close. He hated the M.Sgt. for being a part of it. 

Even so, to squash any suspicions that might be aroused, Alex encouraged Michael forward. It was better they look through the telescope at the stars than have the Master Sergeant turn his sights too closely on them.

“What are you watching, Dad?” Alex tugged at Michael’s sleeve. Walking the few yards to his father’s set-up took almost no time at all. Alex even feigned interest for a few seconds, peeking at the Milky Way before he invited Michael for a turn.

The telescope twisted on its axis and out of Alex’s grasp as his father adjusted the view. It seemed the man had specific locations in mind for Michael’s observation. 

“What can you tell me about that, son?” M.Sgt. Manes presented the finderscope to Michael and took a small step back. He nodded to Colonel Blanchard over Michael’s back. The self-satisfied tip of his father’s head infuriated Alex. 

Michael looked, twisting the knob to bring the view into focus. Alex’s hands curled into fists in his pockets; his brothers came up to stand at his sides. 

“I, um…” Michael stood straight, blinking owlishly before composing himself. “I don’t recognize it.”

“Mhmm.” Master Sergeant Manes smiled wide. “Not something in the textbooks, is it?”

“No, sir.” Michael glanced from the Master Sergeant to the Colonel. “I don’t think so.”

“No, Mr. Guerin.” Colonel Blanchard spoke up with a devilish grin. “It isn’t. Now imagine what you could see through the high-powered machines we have at the base.” The Colonel untucked his notebook from under his arm and approached the telescope for his own view of the sky without further comment.

At Alex’s ear, Harry leaned in conspiratorially. “If you can get Dad out of the house - say, for a weekend - I bet I can get into his office.”

In front of them, Michael scrubbed a hand over his face and went to his own telescope, fumbling with the knobs. His hands slipped as they shook in drunkenness or shock; his expression was unreadable.

Alex turned to his brother, determined. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	9. Two Small Pieces of Glass (Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out why Alex's path changes from ROTC at college to enlistment. Alex and his brothers get serious about their investigation into their father and Guerin's projects. Y2K. Museum stuff.  
> It'll be fun!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Alex wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he knocked on the doors to his father’s office. A warm welcome? Not likely. But he didn’t think his father would bar his entrance either.

When there was no answer, after the first knock, Alex lent his voice to the rap of his knuckles against the door frame. “Dad, have you seen Guerin?”

That got the man’s attention. The door opened just enough for Master Sergeant Manes to slip out of the office.

Alex rolled his eyes as his father took stock of the living room. He was growing more paranoid by the day, but Alex wouldn’t let on that it was probably justified - Harry and J.J. were going to get into that office eventually.

“Did you check the shed?” the man asked as his eyes landed on his son.

“The tool shed?” Besides Michael’s drunken escape, no one had been back there in ages. There wasn’t any reason to. The yard past the pool - old swing set, tool shed, and overgrown vegetable patch included - might as well belong to the sparse woods that divided the Manes property from their neighbors’. “I thought you brought everything to the garage when he started work on the mower.”

“Well, I assume you checked the garage.”

“Yeah. And Harry’s room and the kitchen and the pool.”

“Then, did you check the shed?” 

“No.”

“Thank you for wasting my time, Alex.” Alex’s father’s hand was on the door handle of his office and twisting before he’d finished dismissing his son. “It’s been informative, as usual.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The shed. Michael’s been working out there.”

Alex shook his head to dismiss what clearly sounded like an accusation for not knowing Michael’s routine. “I’ve been busy, too. Waiting tables. Weekends with the ROTC. I don’t keep close tabs on-”

“You’re taking an extra hour for the skatepark, and an extra two hanging around the diner with your old music buddies, all while your friend is stuck here.”

“I-” Alex can’t deny he’s needed some time away from home, but it wasn’t Michael he was avoiding. He’d invited Michael along, several times. Michael never wanted to leave home. By day Michael was too engrossed in his sketches and equations to entertain Alex’s ideas of fun. By night he had one eye to the viewfinder of his telescope and the other winking innuendo through half-drunken debates with whichever of Alex’s brothers was around. 

 

Alex gave serious thought to what would happen when his brothers returned to their home bases. Michael wasn’t family; he wasn’t dying or dead. Robbie was close, stationed in Otero, but he was also useless. Harry was stationed at the Gulf. Not far, compared to… Jesse. Alex’s face fell as he remembered the reason for J.J.’s extended goodbye. It was something his mother requested whenever her boys were stationed overseas. J.J. would return to Afghanistan sooner than later. Alex swallowed hard.

“I know he’s important to you.”

Alex blinked up at his father, confused. It took him a moment to realize they were talking about Michael. 

“He’s important to all of us,” the man amended.

Alex felt bile churn in his stomach and his father continued, unaware of his affect on his son.

“Now, with his injury-”

Alex’s lips parted and he cut into his father with all the distaste that had been building since the first time the Master Sergeant had pulled Michael into his office with Major Asshole and Colonel Bitchface. “If he’s so important, why didn’t you take him in before?”

Master Sergeant Manes drew himself up, standing as straight as he would if speaking with a subordinate. It was a shift in posture, in demeanor, that Alex had come to see more often at home - and most often directed toward him. 

With the slightest tilt to his head, Alex’s father took a small step forward. “Excuse me?”

Alex didn’t back down. He hadn’t forgotten what Harry had told him about their father’s hand in keeping Michael in Roswell. When Michael had had a chance at being with a foster family that could have supported him - possibly loved him, almost certainly saved him from his most recent abuse - it had been Master Sergeant Manes that blocked the match from going through. 

“You’re always pulling strings for him now. Why didn’t you get him out of that house before his stepfather ruined his chances in the Air Force?”

Master Sergeant Manes regarded Alex in silence for a long moment. When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “Do you mean to tell me that you were aware of violence in that home?” 

Alex took a step back as if he could put distance between himself and his father’s sharp tone.

“You were aware and said nothing?”

Alex’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He scrambled for words to explain.

Master Sergeant Manes took a long breath through his nose as his expression twisted into a scowl. “I need you out of my sight.”

“Dad,” Alex pleaded as his father screwed his eyes shut.

“Get out,” his father said through his clenched jaw. 

Curiosity seeped through Alex’s fear as he watched the man before him struggle for composure. Alex was reminded of the night he had been pulled from bed and rushed to the hospital. He saw now the same vacillation between father and Airman that had worried and intrigued him at Michael’s bedside. 

The man who spoke next was surely the Airman playing a part. Alex convinced himself his father wouldn’t blame a child for what had happened to a friend. “I did not raise you to have stood idly by while someone you love was being taken advantage of.”

Alex sniffed shortly and backed from the room, but his expression was hard. His vision blurred with unshed tears, but when his eyes refocused they were on the locked door of his father’s office. _You’re right, Dad,_ he thought bitterly, determined. _I won’t make that mistake again._

Alex waited at the foot of the stairs, staring into the living room, until he heard the click of his father’s office door lock once more.

“I didn’t expect your family to take me in, Alex.”

Alex jumped at the sound of Michael’s voice behind him; he clutched the center of his chest as he found his bearings and turned around. “What?”

Michael stood in the foyer, the front door at his back. The plastic grocery bags around his wrist rustled as he fumbled his keys into the pocket of his jeans. “I kinda prefer not being your brother.”

Alex rushed toward him. He crowded Michael against the door and captured his face with his hands. He devoured Michael’s surprised gasp with a kiss. 

The bags fell to the area rug beneath their feet and Alex nudged them aside. He moaned into Michael’s mouth and hummed when Michael turned him to switch their positions.

With Alex bracketed against the door, the knob and lock dug into his back. Michael’s nails raked over his scalp. Alex laughed against Michael’s lips. 

They were going to get caught. 

They were going to be seen and for the first time Alex really didn’t care. 

What was the worst anyone could do, really? His dad - the Master Sergeant - cared about Michael more than he cared about his own sons. J.J. and Harry, though they didn’t say the word boyfriend, accepted the closeness Alex and Michael shared. Alex’s mom had respected and supported his relationship since even before Alex admitted to himself what he felt. 

Thoroughly relieved, Alex let himself get lost in the quick rise and fall of Michael’s chest against his own. He took Michael’s curls in fistfulls and pulled at them long and slow. He nipped at Michael’s lips and arched into their kiss.

“What the fuck?”

Alex’s eyes opened like a shot and his heart seized just as quickly. He met Rob’s horrified expression pale-faced and speechless. When Alex noticed Michael’s hunched shoulders and downcast gaze, however, heat rose up his neck to his ears. Alex stepped around Michael to meet his brother head on and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Alex-” Rob spoke with a tinge of disbelief in his voice “-do you seriously think you can land a punch on me right now?”

There was nothing about the loose stance Rob held to broadcast aggression, but Alex knew his brother’s military training had made defensive maneuvers second nature. Still, Alex took a step forward and squeezed his fists tighter. 

“Do we have a problem here?”

“Um, yeah.” Rob said emphatically. “I’d very much prefer to never again see my little brother dry hump his boyfriend. Seriously, can you get a fucking room? You guys have two.” He surveyed Alex’s fighting stance with disapproval. “And have Guerin teach you how to throw a punch, because _this_ isn’t gonna get you anywhere good.” 

Rob moved past a stunned Alex to clasp Michael’s shoulder. 

Alex couldn’t see his brother’s face, but judging by Michael’s fleeting smile there must have been a mark of approval written upon Rob’s expression. 

When Rob turned to address Alex one last time before heading upstairs, however, his face had twisted into a grimace. “Excuse me while I go bleach my eyeballs.”

Alex stood in the doorway, his head tipped back against one of the many cult classic movie posters that covered Harry’s walls. Missing its tack, a corner of _Enemy Mine_ curled up and scratched Alex’s arm.

Alex rubbed at the itch as he watched Michael fall into the center of the bed. In soft-spoken apology, he told Michael, “There were seven ways I could have gone about that better. Literally, like, I'm counting.” Seeing Michael so upset and knowing that his own, somewhat misplaced, anger toward Rob had been a part of it, was nauseating. Alex leaned forward with his hands on his knees. He reminded himself to breathe. “I'm a moron.”

Michael flopped onto his back, in the room he’d been told to make his own and hadn’t, and stared at the ceiling fan. 

Alex couldn’t understand why Michael didn’t redecorate this damn place. The room was a shrine to Harry’s formative years. Besides the posters, his shelves were covered in chotchkies collected during his travels. And everything, yes, everything from the blue carpet to the wooden ‘treasure’ chest at the foot of the bed to the cargo net holding up teddy bears and action figures in the corner of the room all spoke to Harry’s interest in being on the ocean since a young age. 

Alex watched the little iron anchors dangling from the ceiling fan, swaying as the blades spun above them. Their occasional clink was the only sound in the room until Michael sighed. 

Michael turned his hand palm up on the bed and Alex’s heart leapt at the invitation. As soon as Alex took his hand, Michael looked up at him. “You're not.”

“I am, Guerin. Michael, I'm sorry.”

“You're not a moron, Alex.”

“I didn’t know you’d talked to him about us. Well, about your feelings for me. I thought-”

“You thought he was a homophobic dick.”

Alex squared off his shoulders and Michael sat up with a groan. 

“We should get out of the house,” Alex suggested in a rush. “Go somewhere. It's been a while since...”

But Michael wasn’t the one who voiced agreement. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Alex whipped his head around to see his father standing at the door. Alex slipped his hand out from Michael’s and tucked it under his own thigh. “Oh yeah?” He strained to keep his smile from looking forced and tight.

Master Sergeant Manes crossed his arms over his chest, the conversation they’d had just an hour before seemingly wiped from his memory. “What did you have in mind?”

“Um.” Alex looked around Harry’s room for an idea. Surrounded by artifacts of his brother’s youth and souvenirs from his naval deployments around the world, Alex thought of the sea, of the beach. “How about the lake?”

Alex eyed his father as the man walked away from their umbrella and down the beach. It was a minute before Alex felt the tension leave his shoulders, the sea air fill his lungs and the sun hot on his cheeks. He didn't realize he'd been blocking everything else out, focusing only on the discomfort of having his father so close.

Beside him, Michael had tipped his cowboy hat down over his eyes and laid back. The sun baked his bare chest and long legs. Michael could spend hours in the sun; a lucky one, his tanned skin never burned.

Alex shifted his attention to the cooler of sodas and ice between them. No beers, no broken seals on the water bottles, no way for Michael to have snuck alcohol on the trip. It was a relief to have him sober and present. He hoped Michael would be alright with the change. Rob certainly put up a fight when his father had told them of the rule. 

Alex wasn't disappointed when his brother decided to spend the weekend with his girlfriend instead of tagging along. His older brothers' excuses followed suit, but Alex had already known they would be staying behind. 

He wondered how Harry and J.J. were faring on their search of Master Sergeant Manes's office. Alex cleared his throat and grabbed a pair of soft drinks from the ice. He pressed the cold can against the back of Michael’s wrist and allowed himself to be briefly entertained by his boyfriend’s flinch.

With a fingertip, Michael pushed up the brim of his hat. When he accepted the drink, his face was exposed enough that Alex could read the word of thanks as it passed Michael’s lips.

"So, you've been working a lot recently.” Alex popped the top of his soda and let the foam spill onto the sand between his feet. The lake would carry the mess away soon. “Converted the shed into your own little office, dad said." 

"Yeah, I guess. It's a good space.” Michael held his own soda between his knees in a vice. “Quiet. Lots of room to work. Warm at night." 

"I didn't realize you were out late." It seemed like something Alex should have realized. He could make a list of excuses: school work, exhaustion, wanting to give Michael space. When it came down to it, however, Alex realized a part of him was turning a blind eye to Michael’s work with the Air Force on purpose. He didn’t want to be lied to; he didn’t want to know.

"Sometimes I lose track of the hours.” 

"If you ever want company." 

"It's OK, Alex.” Michael’s smile was soft, understanding. “I know you're not interested." 

"I could be.” It’s a semi-truth. It could become more than that. “It interests you.”

Michael’s smile twitched at the corner. He didn’t argue one way or the other.

 

Alex caught sight of Evie before Michael did. But when she stepped into Michael’s view, Alex could tell in an instant. His golden eyes went brighter, as if catching a ray of sun, then darted down to his injured hand and darkened again. 

She frowned at the way he tried to hide the hand under the towel at his side. "What hap- Did Hank do that to you?" 

Alex blinked up at her. How she could so readily surmise the injury had been at the hand of Michael's stepfather baffled him.

"If you need a place to stay, our place is yours, Guerin. You know that." Evie’s offer was genuine and given without any hesitation.

"It's OK. I- The Maneses took me in,” Michael said with a shrug. 

Evie shifted her gaze to Alex, her eyes swimming. "You have a good family, Manes. Taking him in.” There was more she wanted to say. Alex waited for the words to dislodge from her throat. When she spoke, it wasn’t what had gotten stuck, but something lighter instead. Alex could empathize. "Well, if you get sick of him, pass him to us. I miss the bastard. " 

"I'm literally right here." Michael rolled his eyes and Evie matched his expression with a flip of her hair. 

"So you are." 

"Anyway, I won't be leeching off either of you for much longer,” Michael announced. “I'm saving up. Talked to some guys from foster. The ones who aged out with me and before me. They got an apartment with a vacant room. I can live there for cheap rent. It's close, so I can keep, um, working with the base."

"No shit, Guerin.” Evie tugged at the curls peeking out from under Michael’s hat. “You got your foot in the door anyway? Helps to know people in high places, eh, Manes?" 

 

Alex dug his toes into the ground, focused on the splash of water and sand as they swirled into the ditch he'd made. Evie was right, of course, they had a host of Air Force Officers to thank for Michael’s position. Not that gratitude was an emotion he felt. 

“Sure does.” 

A group of kids splashed by, kicking up waves like an artificial tide, and Alex watched the sand wash off his toes. 

Michael bit his lips. He held his injured hand in his lap and picked at his thumb nail. 

Alex's heart broke a little. He knew he was being an asshole, but he hadn’t known that Michael had been paid for his work with his father either. It seemed like something about which he should be have been informed. Although, maybe it wasn't any of his business; maybe it was something he should have inferred on his own.

"Welp,” Evie lifted herself to the balls of her feet and dropped down on her heels, “I'll let you guys get back to your tans. I want to lay out before my photoshoot next week. Album cover and booklet art. I can't believe this shit,” she added with a squeal. “Can you? I actually got signed by a label." 

Alex 's eyebrows shot up. As she skipped off, he released a huff and dug his toes deeper in the sand. "I didn't think she had actually done anything legit. Sounded like a scam at the mall when she mentioned it." 

"You didn't think she was good enough?" 

"No, no. I think she's brilliant. That doesn't mean I didn't think she was being taken advantage of." 

"Hmm." 

"Michael." 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the apartment earlier. It's sort of a new opportunity, you know?" Michael was still picking at his thumb. Alex didn't know how to stop him without hurting his hand. 

"It's OK. I'm... I know it's important for you to stand on your own two feet. I didn't expect you to live with my parents forever. " 

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly." Michael’s toes dragged through the sand in swirls and sharp lines. He swiped his heels over the design, erasing what he had cut deep into the ground. On the newly flattened surface, Michael drew a pair of hearts. They were small, inconspicuous, hidden from view between his and Alex’s legs. The gentle tide washed them away. 

A flock of birds caught Michael’s eye and Alex changed the subject. 

"So, they've been paying you, huh?" 

"Oh... yeah... it's a, um, pretty good rate. I can charge them by the hour if I want. But I calculated that charging them by the project is more lucrative for me.”

“Because you're so damn smart." 

"Because I'm so damn smart," Michael agreed with a sly grin. It was refreshing, seeing Michael smile.

Alex stared at the sky long after the birds had gone. 

A punch of laughter drew Alex’s attention to Evie’s blanket. She had settled down with a pair of friends and waved to Alex when he caught her eye. Her friends waved as well and Alex blushed when their laugher rose up again. 

“Wait, does she know about us?” Alex’s eyes darted to Michael and he watched the smile fall from his boyfriend’s face. 

“Would it be so bad if she did?”

Alex’s lips parted, ready to give his automatic, defensive response. He hadn’t meant to strip him of his happiness. Not at all. He took a second to think about the question and gave a short shake of his head. “No.”

Michael’s expression brightened again as he lifted his gaze. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he studied Alex, then his mouth slowly curled into a smile. “You sure?”

“Just Evie.”

“And Rob.” The vinyl chair groaned under Michael’s shifting weight. 

Alex tried not to appear interested in whatever Michael was rummaging through the cooler for. “Yeah.”

“And everyone that Rob tells.” Ice sloshed as Michael’s hand swiped through the water. He pulled out the zip-top bag that protected the bottle of sunscreen with a satisfied hum.

Alex scowled at the jest, but he knew his brother could be trusted to keep quiet for as long as Alex wanted his relationship a secret.

“How soon are you moving out?”

Michael shrugged. “You’ll be back in school soon. Labor Day weekend?” 

“Stay for the barbeque?”

After wiping the condensation off of the bottle, Michael presented the sunscreen. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday, baby.” 

It was the smell of the lotion that reminded Alex. “I’ve wanted to bring you here since the day we met.”

“What?” Michael’s toes caught a clump of wet sand and sent it flying into the water. The impact was more of a _thunk_ than anything; the lake swallowed the sediment with hardly a splash. 

“Here. The lake. This spot. I was here for my birthday with a bunch of kids. I remember sitting next to you in class and thinking you should have been here with us.”

Michael looked down at the soda viced between his knees and flicked the tab. “You didn’t even know me.”

Alex lifted his eyebrows and tipped back his head to soak up the sun. “What can I say? I was a smart kid.”

“Yeah?” Michael’s voice took on a teasing lilt, but there was a self-conscious undercurrent Alex didn’t miss. “What happened?”

Alex’s foot sidled up next to Michael’s and burrowed until the ditch covered them both. “I got distracted by this really cute guy at school.” His toes curled under and tickled Michael’s arch causing Michael to give a little kick. “Then he went and got hot.”

Michael looked over at Alex from under the brim of his hat wearing the halfsmile that always spelled trouble. 

“Dude,” Alex admitted cheekily, “it’s been all downhill from there.”

Alex thought he’d get a full briefing once he arrived home, but his brothers’ lips were sealed. Alex went to bed still in the dark, too nervous to even toss and turn. His heart beat so fast he had been sure he'd be up all night. But, at last, the exhaustion of a day in the sun won out.

 

A firm grip on his forearms shook Alex awake and when his eyes opened it was a hazy image of his father’s face hovering above him. Alex's heart caught in his throat with a flashback of Michael’s night in the hospital before he blinked. Harry’s face - not their father’s - came into focus. 

“Holy shit.” Pushing himself up to sit against the pillows, Alex struggled to even his breathing. “Did you find anything?” 

An inarticulate crackling sound escaped Harry’s mouth and Alex’s stomach dropped. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

J.J. spoke up from Alex’s dresser, holding up a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. “It wasn’t good.”

“Dad’ll be up soon. Left a note we went for a run.”

Alex asked, standing to pull on the clothes extended to him. “Where are we really going?” 

“Not far,” Harry whispered cryptically.

J.J. rolled his eyes. “The shed.”

“Oh.” Alex frowned. “You found something?”

“We’ll show you when we get there. Don’t talk. Don’t wanna risk waking Guerin either.”

Alex regarded his brothers in silence, then checked the hall before moving out.

 

Harry turned the corner of the shed with his eyes on the dirt. “Look at this,” he said in awe. “You can tell he tried to cover it up. But he was in a hurry. Something must have interrupted him. Or it was too dark. Or… Doesn’t matter. You can see it, right?” Harry looked up with expectation and he looked genuinely put out by Alex's lost expression. “The shed was moved!”

When J.J.’s eyes rolled back this time, no iris could be seen. “Oh my god. This crap again.”

Alex gave his oldest brother a shove and thrust his thumb toward Harry. “What is he talking about?”

“He thinks Guerin moved the shed.”

“Yeah,” Alex squinted through the dark, “that's what I thought he said.”

“Open your eyes.” Harry kneeled in the sparse grass, his fingertips delicately moving along some edge visible only to him. “This is a hard line as wide as the structure.”

J.J. scratched the stubble growing over his neck. “Jesus… here we go.” He walked over to Harry and took him indelicately by the arm.

“The earth is compacted… just look.” Even as J.J. pulled him from the ground with a great heave, Harry kept his eyes focused on what he saw.

Alex entertained his brother’s insanity with a nod. “Yeah, wow, you’re right. But Michael’s hand?”

“I don’t know how he does it.” Harry stood in awe, turning this way and that in his search for clues. “A pulley system? Telekinesis?”

Alex tried to contain his laughter, but a huff escaped despite his efforts.

J.J. nodded, incredulous. “Like Carrie.” 

Looking up to the sky, as if in desperate prayer, J.J. begged, “Can we move on to something real?” 

“Fine.” Harry said, but it sounded like a temporary resignation. “Show him what you found. But I know there’s something underneath this shed. And I think it’s worth tearing up the floor.”

Alex pulled his lips in and bit them together. There was the dramatic and wholly unnecessary asshole move he had been expecting from Harry. _Tear up the floor? Destroy Michael’s workspace? Draw attention to their suspicion? Suggest distrust in more than their father?_ They might as well kick Michael from the house for all the message that would send.

It was a relief to have J.J. on the side of reason. “We’re not destroying Dad’s shed so you can fulfill some Indiana Jones-Goonies crossover fantasy, Harrison. You sound like a crazy person.”

Harry had moved on from his obsession with dirt and secret pulleys to lead them to the door. “Oh, like your theory sounds on the level.”

“At least there’s evidence to support what I found,” J.J. countered.

At the claim that there was no evidence to support his own theory, Harry practically jumped out of his shoes. “Look at the ground!”

J.J. closed his eyes and grumbled through what was probably meant to be a calming breath. “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him.”

Alex had had enough. “Shut up. Just… shut up. Jay, what did you find?”

J.J. screwed up his mouth to one side before taking the padlock in his hands. “Let’s go in.”

Inside the shed looked pretty much the same as always. And that was strange. If Michael had been working out here as often as their father claimed, there should be some evidence of it. 

“So, Michael isn’t working in here?”

“Oh, he is.” J.J. unhooked a panel from the wall and a desk dropped down, unfolding from the wall similar to their ironing board in the laundry room. But there was little there to suggest anything productive for the military had been done.

The papers stuck to the wall, graph and lined, were covered in the drawings Alex recognized from Michael’s high school sketchbooks. 

But then, J.J. took a folded sheet of paper and a crayon from his pocket, laid it flat as he could over the tabletop, and began to color. Slowly, a pattern emerged. 

“So, what? He’s working for Dad. That’s…”

J.J. kept his voice low. “That’s specs for an explosive.”

“An explosive what?”

“A weapon, Alex. What else do you know that explodes?”

“Fireworks? A… an internal combustion engine.” Alex looked between his brothers. “That’s what it’s called, right?”

“Does this look like an engine to you?”

“Jay, I-” Alex really wished he’d paid more attention to all the time Michael spent bent over machines.

“I talked to some friends. Aviation support Marines. They know their shit, Alex. And this screams weapons-related-”

The room started to tilt. Alex didn't know what he expected to find, but it wasn’t this. “You sent them copies?”

“No, I just-”

“No.” Alex and Harry repeated as one, but it was Alex who continued on to defend Michael’s work. “So they didn’t actually read these… whatever you call it.”

“No, of course not.”

“And they didn’t do the- the math. Or even have all the pieces,” Alex waved his hand at the jumble of equations that remained white against the grey shading of the crayon. With days of work layered on top of each other, the page was mostly unreadable. “They didn’t have the full picture.”

“No,” J.J. agreed.

Alex let his eyes rove the unfolded desktop. Nothing made sense, but he knew Michael wouldn’t be building a weapon. Not on purpose. Not by accident. Alex had faith in Michael; he was too smart to fall into either trap. 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, carved into the lower left corner of the wooden plank used as a desk, were a series of divots. Among Michael's work, it was the only familiar pattern Alex could find. He rubbed his thumb over the marks, then carefully folded Michael’s desk into the wall of the shed. 

“What did you find in Dad’s office?”

Harry and J.J. exchanged looks, as if begging the other to speak first. Harry lost. “We couldn’t get in.”

Alex looked from Harry to J.J. with a fire in his eyes. “What?”

“That’s why we focused out here. Dad’s locks have been upgraded.”

“If you ran into trouble in the office, you should have focused your efforts in the office!” Alex started pacing. “I could ask Michael to show me the shed any time.”

“You really think you could?”

“Of course. The other day I offered to come out here with him while he worked into the night.”

“And what did he say?”

Alex looked down at his feet before meeting his brother’s eye. “He said it would probably be boring. And he’d understand if I’d rather not watch him work.”

The looks his brothers gave him told Alex all he needed to know. Michael's answer satisfied them in a particular way.

“We also found this,” Harry said as he placed an ID card in Alex’s hand.

It was Michael’s face looking up at him. 

“It’s just a temporary. Guerin has a few of them in that drawer,” Harry said with a gesture toward the tool chest under the tabletop. “Looks like Dad finally found someone for bring your kid to work day.”

“You need to put this back,” Alex pushed the words past the lump in his throat. There was too much light coming in from the windows. If the sun was rising, so was their father.

Alex waited a night to catch his bearings before heading out to the shed alone. He crept down the hallway and through the kitchen with one thought in mind: he had left the investigation to the wrong Manes brothers.

Then, he saw Rob on a lounge chair, passed out with a dead sixer at his side, and scratched that. Rob was still the worst. But one truth remained: J.J. and Harry didn’t know Michael the way Alex did. 

Alex jogged over the patio and onto the lawn. With a glance over his shoulder at the dark house and his sleeping brother, he slipped further into the dark of the tree-lined yard. He came upon the shed and, like Harry had warned, took stock of the area around it. He felt silly. There wasn’t much to see under the faint light of the moon. Nonetheless, he knew he would be remiss to ignore Harry’s insistence. 

When he’d given up any hope to see what Harry had been so sure of, Alex went to the door. He fiddled with the padlock, relieved that the combination hadn’t been changed. Then, he went to the desk. 

The metal tool chest stood next to an older, wooden cart. He wondered how thoroughly his brothers had searched the warped, half-empty set of drawers. 

Alex kneeled in front of both and wrenched the stuck drawers open, one by one. As he suspected, he found false bottoms in each. He had to laugh at himself when he saw the compartments were full of chocolate. But he wasn’t fooled or deterred. Michael was so much smarter than even he let on - smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Alex wouldn’t underestimate him. If there were false bottoms here, for something as simple as chocolate, there were hidden compartments elsewhere. 

Maybe Harry’s idea to bring up the floorboards hadn’t been so crazy, after all.

Alex swept the floor with his eyes, overwhelmed with the decision of where to start until finally he decided it wouldn’t be the floor at all. The old stash. 

The old cushions for the lounge chairs were still stacked in the corner, collecting dust and cobwebs. It didn’t look like they’d been disturbed in ages. But Alex knew Michael. It was hard to know when Michael had come and gone. He could make it look like he’d never been somewhere. 

Alex pulled the cushions away from the wall, careful not to disturb their precarious tower. He lifted the loose sideboard and pried it from the wall. The cubby was clean. No longer was it stocked with first aid and snacks for Michael when things got bad at the group home or Hank’s. 

Alex reached his hand in and pulled out a folder. It may as well have been addressed to him; Michael had to know the folder was something only Alex would find. The pages of graphs and equations, however, were ones Alex didn’t recognize. Not in the way he usually didn’t understand Michael’s scribblish. No, this was ‘normal’ by comparison, but so beyond anything Alex had seen in school. 

The equations were so neat. Detailed. Each page seemed to be paired with something like a blueprint. Michael’s work had matured by leaps and bounds from the sketches with which he’d filled his notebooks. Alex took a look behind him to the tool chests. Above them the fold-down desk displayed what were juvenile sketches in comparison to those he held in his hands. The chill of something like dread crawled up his spine.

Last in the folder was a half-sheet of lined paper. 

Alex shoved the rest back into the wall and stared at the note in his hands. On the upper half of the page Alex recognized the set of dots, the constellation Michael had been drawing in every notebook since they were kids. Toward the bottom there was a new doodle: three circles equidistant from a center space, connected by lines. It was a rough sketch. A bit of shading in the circles, but almost left as an afterthought - or left after struggling with the idea for a long time. 

In the center of the note, however, Alex read in plain English: **Stop.**  
Alex nearly swallowed his tongue and shut his eyes as if he could pretend he didn’t see the second word written in Michael’s neat block-print on the page. **Please.**

Alex wanted to pretend he had never found it. He wanted to burn the note while Michael and his father watched. He wanted to give it back to Michael and parrot back those same words to him. Instead, Alex pocketed the letter, replaced the wall board and the cushions, and grabbed one of the half-eaten bags of chocolate from the drawer. 

Michael was sitting up in Rob’s place when Alex returned to the patio. Alex didn't know what to say, so he wasn't going to say anything. Words were best kept for another night, after he had time to think of something instead of dumbly staring at his boyfriend, jaw slack.

But Michael took him by the wrist when he tried to pass and Alex had no choice but to meet his eyes with guarded confusion. And Michael said the word Alex could never refuse, the word that was like a promise Alex could never betray, “Please.”

Alex's lips parted. As long as Michael didn't say anything else, Alex could give whatever meaning he wanted to that plea. It didn't have to mean stop looking. Maybe it meant: don’t overthink things. Maybe it meant: don't go inside. Maybe it meant: hand over the chocolate.

Alex placed the bag of chocolate on the table next Michael’s empty glass.

Then, Alex turned into Michael's arms, climbed onto the chaise straddling his lap and sought out his lips. The kiss was sloppy and bitter. Whatever Michael had been drinking with Rob stung Alex's tongue and numbed his lips. 

Michael's hands rose up Alex's hips and slid under his shirt until they gripped him tightly above the waist. The hold was so tight Alex squirmed and then remembered Michael's hand. But Michael didn't seem to pay his injury any mind.

“You're drunk,” Alex spoke into the kiss. 

Michael pulled Alex to sit more fully in his lap. “You’re intoxicating.”

It didn't matter that Alex stopped snooping. That he didn't go back to the shed. That the closest he came to the damn building was to sit at the bottom of the old playground slide to wait for Michael until his boyfriend was ready to come inside for some TV or music before bed.

Michael moved out anyway. 

The school year began.

Alex marked his calendar with an ‘x’ through each day and a thick line through each week. Graduation day loomed closer and Michael’s visits to the house grew father apart. 

The hysteria for Y2K was coming to a head. Alex knew enough about computers to understand the Millenium bug related to the formatting and storage of calendar data would hardly result in any real issues for his classmates. That was, unless, it affected the military. 

What he didn’t understand, however, was this obsession about the end of the world. Michael was potentially helping his father’s super secret project build weapons; that already felt like the end of the world as he knew it. A little alien abduction felt like it might bring a welcome change of scenery.

It was bad enough the UFO Emporium was hosting a New Year’s countdown for the upperclassmen. Nothing like stirring the pot advertising it as an End of the World party. And did the school really think it was a good idea to have a bunch of hormone-driven teenagers in a museum during a time when ‘this could be our last night on Earth’ was quite literally a thought on everyone’s mind? On a night when it was expected you find a partner to kiss?

December 20th came around and the desks of Study Hall were covered in poster paper and craft supplies. It was either imminent doom or alien abduction all around: “The End of the World is Nigh” “Welcome the Dawn of the New World” “Take Me to Your Leader” “I Believe”. The “Probe Me” posters were confiscated, but Alex had a sneaking suspicion Dr. Ross was keeping them to pass out among the teachers.

Maria sat atop the alien autopsy display, her legs swinging gently beneath the metal slab. “The streets are wild,” she said, raising her empty plastic cup in gesture to anywhere but here. They’d found a relatively quiet place in the side room - relative, of course, being a keyword.

Music streamed in from the hallway and bled through the thin walls, but the speakers around the room played something softer, haunting: the tinkering of metal on metal - vivisection tools against the pan, the whispers of government scientists as they cut into a mystery from offworld and developed their conspiracy cover-ups. 

Alex rubbed the back of his head. The layered sounds made his scalp tingle in an almost unpleasant way. 

“C’mon,” Maria said as she hopped down from the table’s edge. “We’re supposed to be in the gallery.”

Alex gave her a short shake of his head and an even smaller smile. “I’m fine here.”

“It’s almost time.”

“Yeah? And who are you looking to kiss at midnight?”

Her smile was wicked. “Oh, I’m gonna lock lips with the cutest alien I find.”

“Uh huh.”

“What about you?” Maria slung her arm around Alex’s shoulders and hugged him to her side.

Without Michael at the party, Alex hardly felt like there was much point to him staying until the ball dropped. But he said, “Same,” as if ringing in the new year with a peck on the lips from just anyone would ever come close to spending the turn of the millennium in Michael’s arms. 

Alex doubted Maria believed him, but her arm slid gently from his shoulders before she went on ahead. She knew him well enough to understand when he needed some space. 

Alex looked up to the ceiling with a sigh and blinked back a tear. He shouldn’t have come. He should have asked Michael over or met him somewhere. They should be together.

Alex wondered why the hell Michael hadn’t called; he wondered where the hell Michael was and what he was doing and with whom.

 

The gallery was set up almost like the school gymnasium had been for Junior Prom. The tables, chairs, DJ, and disco lights, however, were about where the similarities ended. Lucky for New Roswell High their prom theme hadn’t been “Apocalypse Now” or “Get Probed” or whatever new catchphrase Alex’s classmates were shouting as they raised their shiny green cups of spiked punch in a toast. 

Before Alex could fill a cup of his own, he felt a tug on his wrist and hot breath on his ear. 

“Hey.” 

Alex turned and the air caught in his lungs. A grey alien face with large black eyes and a pointed chin leaned in too close for comfort.

“Can we talk?”

Alex recognized the waiver in Michael’s voice and relaxed. He noticed the mess of Michael’s curls, the bounce in his knees, the twist of his hands as he struggled not to pick at his cuticles. Alex lifted an eyebrow at Michael’s choice of attire. The mask wasn’t the worst at the party, but it didn’t suit him. 

Michael tugged at the cuffs of his shirt as he anxiously awaited an answer.

“Uh, yeah. I guess,” Alex said, as if he would ever give up the chance to finally get Michael to open up. 

Alex wished he could see Michael’s face behind the mask. Michael looked smaller, curled in on himself, as he asked, “Somewhere private, maybe?”

Alex glanced over his shoulder at the door. Sure, he knew a place. It wasn’t really what Alex wanted to do at a party, at midnight, while the whole world was kissing. But since when did things with Michael play out how he really wanted anyway?

Maria poked Alex’s side. The curious tilt of her head let him know she had been watching the exchange. “Going somewhere?”

Alex let out a weak laugh as Michael took him by the hand. “I’m being abducted. Back in five.”

Maria’s voice echoed into her cup as she lifted it to her lips for a drink. “Won’t hold my breath!”

 

The autopsy display room was different with Michael than it was with Maria. It was quieter. It was as if the speakers in the room stopped working or maybe their audio had played out to its end. 

In the center of the room, Alex listened to the beat of his own heart. It raced as Michael laced their fingers and faced him. Maybe Alex shouldn’t have considered kissing his boyfriend while he wore the alien mask, but after spending an awkward Christmas weekend snowed in with Michael and Dad, kissing a Grey on New Year’s Eve felt like no big whoop. 

The fabric of Michael’s shirt felt smooth, freshly pressed, like he had put an effort into his appearance. Alex smoothed his hands over his boyfriend’s chest and looked up at the shiny, black eyes of the mask. Michael’s muffled breaths sounded hollow and far away behind the plastic.

Slowly, Michael’s hand came up to reveal his true face. The light and patchy stubble along his jawline scratched Alex’s palms as he pulled their heads together. 

Alex had been here before. He’d been in this place where he was close to kissing Michael - so close that he could let himself get lost tracing the lines of Michael’s face. Their foreheads pressed together. They breathed each other's air. And there wasn’t enough... not enough of anything. Not enough words or oxygen or time. 

Michael looked at him with expectancy and Alex looked back, teetering on impatient. Michael was the one who pulled him in here, shouldn't be he be the one to speak? _Yes,_ Alex recalled, _he said something about talking._

"So, talk," Alex said and it sounded like a demand, but Alex was begging. Alex was pleading for Michael to say something that meant anything because it had been a week since they'd spoken to each other. 

Trying to decode every nuanced phrase and gesture between his boyfriend and his father hadn’t made for a ‘Merry Christmas’. Nevertheless, Alex regretted telling Michael as much. That conversation had made for an even worse ‘morning after’. 

Michael must have been up with the plows before dawn, shoveling the drive. The Maneses woke up December 26th to a house that held no trace of Michael save for the gifts he left behind. Mrs. Manes had _lived_ for the extra body in the house. But then Michael had left again and the house felt emptier than ever. 

"How's your mom?" 

"My mom?" Alex couldn’t believe Michael would come here to ask about her. "Why are you here, Guerin?" 

And it was safer to call him Guerin, to put some distance between them, even if their hands were still clutching each other's necks and shoulders - even if the only distance was that which a name can give. Calling him Michael, aloud, gave him too much power over Alex’s heart - Alex couldn’t give him that power anymore. Not after what was found in the shed. Not after Michael moved out, cleared out everything, left Alex with only the few scraps of paper still taped to the mirror in his bedroom. 

_God, no._ Alex's heart felt like his it was caught in a vice. 

_Not scraps._

The pages from Michael’s sketchbook were Alex’s one constant. Michael came and went, covered his tracks. But the artwork he’d given to Alex stayed. The fading and worn pieces of textured paper tacked up at the highest corner - Alex cherished those pages more than anything. Alex looked up at his mirror at least twice a day, usually when he wanted to message Michael something like a good morning or goodnight. His own stubborn pride kept him from hitting send more times than not.

Michael was online - always online; he obviously had a landline specifically designated for the internet at the apartment he shared. Alex wondered just how much the Air Force was paying him. 

"What are you thinking about?" Michael asked. And it was such a simple sounding question, asked with such gentle curiosity that Alex almost wanted to tell him. But Alex knew every word out of his mouth would sound like an accusation. 

So, Alex smiled and licked his lips and said, "I'm wondering why you aren't kissing me yet." 

Alex knew Michael didn’t believe his words to be the whole truth by the way Michael’s gaze lingered on his eyes before drifting to his mouth. But it was an acceptable answer. 

Michael tasted like coca cola and cheese puffs and it was the most foreign taste Alex had ever had on his tongue. It felt like he'd been duped into kissing someone who wasn’t Michael at all. 

Alex almost pushed this not-Michael off of him until this-person-who-was-surely-Michael (because who else could he be?) kissed him in just the way Alex liked it. This Michael touched him in places only Michael would know made him feel safe and held and whole. _It’s him,_ Alex told himself as he breathed in the evidence of his boyfriend’s new appetites. He didn’t realize he’d miss the bitterness of dark chocolate and cheap spirits until it was gone. 

Alex let Michael suck his tongue and nibble his lip. He lost himself in the sensation of it all and almost doesn’t register Michael lifting him onto the table. Michael stepped between his knees, moaned his name into his mouth, and Alex had no doubt this was the guy he'd always loved. 

Michael broke their kiss with a puzzled expression. "I didn't do that right," he said.

Alex reared back an inch to get a better look at the golden eyes searching his own. "What?" 

"Your mind is still racing. I didn't kiss you stupid. It was my goal anyway." 

"I'm always stupid, when it comes to you, Guerin." 

Michael’s fingers were gentle as they carded through Alex’s hair and brought Alex’s lips to his again. His hands didn’t linger on Alex’s scalp long. A warmth coursed up Alex’s spine and down his limbs as Michael’s fingers walked all over his body. They grabbed, explored, possessed him. 

“I found something,” Michael whispered as Alex caught his breath.

“Out there?”

Michael seemed to understand Alex meant the stars because he shook his head and leaned into Alex firmly, grounding. “No, baby. Here. Pieces of an answer. I can hold them. Touch them. They're coming together piece by piece and I…”

Alex searched Michael’s eyes and saw enthusiasm and something else in Michael's loss of words. “What is it?”

Michael shook his head and petted the nape of Alex's neck before kissing him again. Urgent. Insistent.

The urgency scared Alex and that's when he recognized that it had been indecision he saw in Michael's expression as well.

"Alex, the things these military computers can do, man... you gotta see it for yourself. The, oh man, the computations they can handle, the algorithms we test. It's all new. And there are pieces, Alex. Pieces and code. It's all coming together. I've found so much in such a little time. I'm on the edge of something here." 

"So are we, Guerin." 

Michael slid his hands down Alex’s arms and held him low on his hips. Alex stared at Michael’s mouth, certain he was going to say something. But all he saw was the familiar tip of Michael’s tongue as it peeked out between his lips and left behind a wet shine. Michael kissed him again, long and slow.

When they parted, Michael was already looking at his watch. “I have an early start.”

"You're working tonight." Alex took in Michael's attire and realized he wasn't dressed up as a government agent looking to hunt down aliens, he was dressed in a blue button-up - nearly identical to the one Alex’s father wore - his khakis were starched and pressed even though it was now almost half past twelve. "This is how we spend our first New Year’s?" 

"There's always next year. And the year after that." 

"Is there?" Alex surprised even himself with how unsure he sounded. 

Michael looked more wounded than Alex had ever seen him, more than when he sat on the locker room bench covered in bruises. More than when he was laid up in the hospital. More than when he tried to play guitar this Thanksgiving and still had no feeling in his last three fingers - when he couldn’t get his pinky to bend no matter how hard he tried. 

Alex wanted to hold him through this pain, but Michael stood just out of reach. 

"You don't think there will be?" 

Honesty was all Alex had to offer; he would be an Airman by then. "I don't know what to think." 

"End of the world, and all that?" 

"No.” Not wanting to ruin the moment with another hard truth, Alex held back his reasoning. “I don't think the world is going to end. I don't think the world will stop turning or that extraterrestrials are going to beam us up to their ship. I don't think aliens want us…” Alex laughed, “We suck." 

Michael gave a small chuckle and Alex figured he agreed with the sentiment. People have been shitty to Michael his whole life. 

Something beeped at Michael's waist and Alex looked down to see that Michael was wearing a pager. 

"I have to go. " Michael swooped in for a kiss to Alex's temple. "I'm sorry. We'll talk again later." 

“Stay.”

Michael’s lips were soft; his kiss was chaste and brief. “I’ll never go where you can’t follow.”

Alex squinted at him before accepting another kiss. “Promise?”

Michael’s grip on Alex’s forearms was as insistent as his most impassioned kisses. “Always.” 

Alex waited for Michael to leave before letting himself fall backward alongside the vivisected alien lying on the exam table with him. 

_Always,_ Michael had assured him. It was Alex’s second most favorite word from Michael’s mouth. Probably his second most hated, as well. 

He tucked himself under the mannequin’s arm like he had been making out with it and not his living, breathing boyfriend. That’s how Maria found him: surely looking dumbstruck and silly in love.

“So, are you gonna tell me who that was?”

Alex stared up at the fluorescent bulbs and let the goofy smile he’d been holding in spread across his face. 

Maria’s giggles filled the room. “C’mon. I’ll tell you about mine, if you tell me about yours.”

Two weeks passed since New Year’s and Michael had visited the house more than a handful of times. It was the third night in a row he’d stayed for dinner and Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he should feel more anxious than elated.

Dad sat at the head of the table, with a spot for mom’s chair at his right. Michael, then Alex, sat at his left. Dad swallowed a scowl as he served breakfast for dinner while Mom’s place remained empty. The pancake stack on Michael’s plate was tall and layered with chocolate syrup instead of maple. 

Alex looked to his father for the usual ribbing at Michael: “Want some pancakes with that chocolate, son?” It never came. 

Underneath the table, Michael’s knee bounced a mile a minute. The constant friction numbed Alex’s thigh. 

“Is Mom OK?”

“She’s just tired.”

The meal passed by way of polite-but-short requests for dishes and condiments. The sounds of their utensils against their plates filled the silences in between. When dinner was finished, Alex was quick to stand and clear the table.

“I’ll wash up.” Alex knew what he was doing, giving them time to talk. He could read their faces well as any and better than most. 

Michael wasn’t only coming by the house more often because he had been missing Alex or because Mrs. Manes had a walking pneumonia that wouldn’t clear out. Michael was here to meet with Alex’s dad - no, with Master Sergeant Manes.

The kitchen was small enough that Alex could usually hear everything they spoke about, but with the water running as he washed the dishes tonight, he couldn’t pick up every word. What he gathered and pieced together was that there had been an incident on New Year’s. The Millenium Bug had hit the base in some way. Security systems were down for a few minutes. Alarms had gone off. Whatever protocol they’d had in place hadn’t covered an area. Alex couldn’t be sure of anything else. 

He tried to catch glimpses of Michael from across the room. If he could read his expression, then maybe he could know with some certainty if Michael had anything to do with the breach. 

“I think I can get you back on base after the Director reviews the new protocol, but until then… Well, I think it’s best if you halt your work on the project.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched Michael nod and bring his hands into his lap. 

“Fair enough, sir.” 

M.Sgt. Manes responded with a short nod before excusing himself to check on his wife. “See to it you boys keep the noise down. Let your mother rest.”

Alex and Michael agreed to the man’s weary request with a pair of “Yes, sirs” spoken to his back. 

Alex watched Michael stare into his lap and hoped his cuticles hadn’t been torn to pieces. “You lost clearance?”

“Some stuff’s gone missing,” Michael said gravely.

There was no amount of chocolate that would smooth over the question Alex would ask next. Even so, Alex grabbed a bag of Special Dark his mother kept for Michael from the pantry. “And did you- do you know anything about that?”

Michael regarded Alex with a heavy brow. The candy remained at the center of the table between them. “There’s enough people trying to pin it on me. I don’t need you to-”

“Hey, no.” The distance between them always felt too far, no matter how close they stood. Alex told himself that sitting across from Michael now hardly made a difference. “No, I was just… being a jerk. I’m sorry.” 

The apology was enough to get Michael’s appetite back.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

The bag of candy rustled in Michael’s hands as he wrestled it open. He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered the question. His answer came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod. 

A piece of chocolate melted on his tongue before Michael asked haltingly, “Could you, maybe, play something for me?”

The request had Alex’s heart skipping a beat; he knew exactly what he wanted to play. 

“I want to run through this idea,” Michael continued. “It’s just a theory. God, they’re all dumb theories, y’know? But I think better when… when you play.”

“Dad said-” Alex caught himself just as Michael interrupted. _And, shit, who cares what Dad said?_

“It’s not for his project.”

“Right. Yeah. I mean, whatever it is, you can tell me. And I won’t be upset, OK? Seriously, dude, I-”

“Alex.” Michael’s gaze locked on his. “Please.”

Alex paused before making up his mind to play their song and wondered, not for the first time, if Michael knew what kind of control he had over Alex when he used that little word.

Alex’s jacket crinkled with Valentine's Day candy grams. If he had one more lollipop crammed into his pockets, he thought they’d start tumbling out. At least they were jolly rancher flavors and not the disgusting generic brand with semi-platonic phrases on them that Student Council sold last year.

As much as Alex appreciated the free fill-up of his candy drawer, there was really only one kind of Valentine’s Day card he looked forward to. 

Even though it was a Monday, Alex had invited Michael to a date at the Drive-In. It was a double-feature night. The owners had it on an honor system that everyone under 18 would clear out before the second film - to be home at a decent hour to be ready for school the next day. 

Alex grinned. He wasn’t feeling so honorable, especially with Michael still technically out of work.

He reached the hallway to find his bedroom door open and the light on inside. Expecting Michael waiting to surprise him, Alex lunged in with his smile firmly in place. Except it wasn’t his boyfriend, but his father, standing in front of his dresser and looking surprised to see Alex suddenly beside him.

“What’s up?” Alex asked slowly, following his father’s attention to the mirror. 

Michael’s sketches had moved. Even the ones done in second grade were off kilter, just a bit. Alex’s father had no idea how often Alex looked at the art-covered half of his mirror, how closely he studied the angle at which each page had been hung.

Alex didn’t miss the notebook held at his father’s side or the pencil tucked behind his father’s ear. 

Even with his son watching, the man didn’t hide his fascination with the pattern common on each page. 

Alex had half a mind to snatch the notebook from his father and see how close the M.Sgt. had come to copying Michael’s drawings down to scale. 

“I have homework,” Alex said. It was the closest thing to ‘Get out’ he thought he could say without crossing the line into the territory of disrespect. 

Alex’s efforts didn’t matter. He wasn’t entirely sure how their interaction escalated into an argument, but it wasn’t the first, the fifth, or the tenth time they’d been at each other’s throats in the past year. 

Alex heard himself accuse his father of pinning the thievery of government property on Michael. He listened to himself accuse his father of stealing whatever-it-was the base had lost and couldn’t believe the audacity he had to say it. Alex must have hit a nerve, however, because by the end of the fight Alex’s father had withdrawn all financial assistance for college. 

“You can forget UNM. Forget ROTC.”

Alex blinked at Master Sergeant Manes, unable to catch his breath or find words to form a reply.

“You’ll enlist. Like I did. Like your brothers.” 

Alex sat on his bed trying to make sense of what had just happened. _It didn’t matter,_ he told himself. _it didn’t._ The Air Force was his father’s choice of career. He was always going to end up there so he’d never made the effort to get good enough grades for the Air Force Academy, which would have been tuition-free. ROTC at UNM would have provided a scholarship, but wouldn’t cover all costs. Enlisting had been a backup, but never really _the plan_. 

Enlisting was some kind of punishment. Alex could hear it in his father’s voice. Enlistment was meant to hurt Alex, except he couldn’t imagine how.

 

Michael showed up at the front door with roses and a gift bag. Alex greeted him with a grunt and a sigh. 

“Am I late?”

“Early,” Alex grumbled, still seething from the row with his father. If only Michael had been less punctual, then Alex might have had enough time to bury his anger.

“I'm sorry?”

“It's nothing. You shouldn't have gone through the trouble of-”

“The roses are for your mom.” 

“Oh.” Alex ushered Michael inside and upstairs toward the bedrooms. It was more important to avoid running into his father than to get his mother's flowers into water. “She likes that shade of pink.” 

Michael didn't need to be told Mrs. Manes's favorite color. “I thought, maybe, you could have this instead.” 

Upon opening the gift bag, Alex bit back his frown. His first instinct was to shove the small canvas toward Michael, but once his eye caught the image, he couldn’t help but hold it closer for inspection.

The picture was like the nebulas Michael and Dad would spend an hour talking about. Rolling clouds of shadow and light. A multitude of stars and colors somehow all together in one small space. 

It was more detailed than any of the others Alex had seen in Michael’s notebooks. The precision of it scared Alex for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint other than fear that his father would see it and decipher something important. 

Alex touched the raised points of dried paint, drawing lines, connecting the brightest dots on the scene. “Ursa Major?” 

He hoped. Against everything, Alex hoped it could be that simple.

Michael shook his head with a light chuckle. “You really don’t pay attention when your dad and I talk, do you?” 

_Dad. He’d take pictures and keep them for his drawer of stolen scraps._ “Keep it at your place,” Alex insisted. “Actually, take them all.” 

Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

Michael didn’t understand how hard this was; that it wasn’t just some whim or Alex’s flair for the dramatic. Alex un-taped the drawings from the mirror and offered them over - the chalk pastels Michael had given Alex in recent years and the colorings drawn in their childhood. 

“Take the pictures back,” Alex begged. “You can’t keep bringing this stuff here. You can’t leave your work laying around. You can’t use the shed or the stashes-” Alex’s hands shook as he glanced toward the open door. “I think you should go.” 

Crestfallen, Michael took a step forward. “Seriously?” 

Alex held his mouth in a hard line as he stared at the pages held out between them. “My Dad has copies.” 

“Of-” 

“Everything! All of these paintings. Probably whatever you left lying around when we were younger. Harry and JJ found- ” 

“You were spying on me,” Michael said, and it wasn’t a question. “You all were.” 

“Not you.” Alex shuffled through the pages in his hand until the first and last drawings were held side by side. It was extraordinary how dissimilar and alike they were all at once. “It’s our dad,” he began again. “We- we were looking out for you.” 

“I’ve told you: I know what I’m doing.” When Alex lifted his gaze, Michael’s eyes were focused on the ground. “This is, like you said, scribble. Your dad, he can’t- Why do you think it would matter?” 

“Because it does, doesn’t it?” There was something Michael wasn’t telling him. There had been something Michael hadn’t been telling him for as long as they’d known each other. “What is this, this constellation? The one I can’t find anywhere.” 

Michael laughed. 

“What does it mean?” The canvas touched down on the desk with a soft tap even though Alex was sure he had thrown it down forcefully. 

Michael wet his lips and sighed, seeming amused. 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“Alex…” Michael’s use of Alex’s name was unnerving and yet bafflingly placating. 

“What?” 

Michael took another step forward and took Alex’s hand in his. 

“Guerin, don’t.” 

“Alex, look.” Michael wiped Alex’s arm from elbow to wrist in a smooth caress. Michael’s ruined fingers twitched as they walked over the skin. Their fingers laced delicately at the end. 

With fresh eyes, Alex blinked down at his freckles. They were half hidden by the hair that had grown in over the years, but the largest of his moles, none bigger than the dot of a marker’s point, were still visible. The pattern was one of the most familiar Alex had ever seen. 

“It’s a map, Alex. A beacon for home written on your skin.”

There were times Michael had run his hands over Alex’s forearm so often the skin had gone from numb to raw. He’d had no idea there was any significance to Michael’s attention.

“You’ve always felt like home to me. Half of these pages,” Michael gestured casually, “are my own shorthand. Ways to get back to you from anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

Michael looked up. “It’s all theoretical and half-jibberish probably, but-” 

Alex pulled him into a kiss. “You’ve got to get your head out of the clouds.” 

“I thought, as a future Airman, you’d understand that’s where my head needs to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has shown interest in this story through their kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subs. It is humbling and heartwarming to hear from you all and to see that you are enjoying Skin. Thank you; thank you so much!


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